To Thee, O Lord, Our Hearts We Raise

To Thee

O Lord

our hearts we raise

In hymns of ad­or­ation

To Thee bring sac­ri­fice of praise

With shouts of ex­ul­ta­tion.

Bright robes of gold the fields ad­orn

The hills with joy are ring­ing

The val­leys stand so thick with corn

That ev­en they are sing­ing.

And now

on this our fes­tal day

Thy boun­te­ous hand con­fess­ing

Upon Thine al­tar

Lord

we lay

The first­fruits of Thy bless­ing.

By Thee all hu­man souls are led

With gifts of grace su­per­nal;

Thou

who gives us our dai­ly bread

Give us the bread eter­nal.

We bear the bur­den of the day

And often toil seems dreary;

But la­bor ends with sun­set ray

And rest comes for the wea­ry.

May we

the an­gel reap­ing o’er

Stand at the last ac­cept­ed

Christ’s gold­en sheaves

for­ev­er­more

To gar­ners bright elect­ed.

O bless­èd is that land of God

Where saints ab­ide for­ev­er

Where gold­en fields spread fair and broad

Where flows the crys­tal riv­er.

The strains of all its ho­ly throng

With ours today are blend­ing;

Thrice bless­èd is that har­vest song

Which nev­er hath an end­ing.