Winter Reigns o’er Many a Region

Winter reigns o’er ma­ny a re­gion

Many a seed field fal­low lies;

When

O Lord

shall come the spring­time

With its quick­en­ing en­er­gies?

When shall this long night be end­ed?

When the morn­ing dawn ap­pear?

When shall drought give place to fresh­ness?

When these de­serts bloom with cheer?

Lord

Thy Church is ev­er pray­ing:

Now her anx­ious yearn­ings hear;

Speed the tri­umphs of Thy king­dom;

Spread its vic­t’ries far and near;

Own the work

Thy grace at­tend it

Which we un­der­take for Thee;

Let a ho­ly love in­flame us;

Kindle zeal and fer­ven­cy.

That Thy fields be right­ly cul­tured

Send the la­bor­ers that we need

Men to light the hea­vy dark­ness

Sow the wastes with pre­cious seed.

Then send down the gen­tle show­ers

Make Thy gra­cious sun­light shine

That each field may joy with bless­ing

Bringing forth the fruits di­vine.

By the breez­es of Thy Spir­it

Fan all dead­ness in­to life;

Bless the seeds to Thee up­spring­ing

Keep each plant from blast and strife.

And

ye toil­ers in this seed­ing

Know the pr­omise God hath giv­en:

Glorious crowns await the faith­ful

And eter­nal gains in Heav­en.