What is earth but God's own field,
Fruit unto His praise to yield?
Wheat and tares therein are sown,
Unto joy or sorrow grown,
Ripening, with a wondrous power,
Till the final harvest hour:
Grant, O Lord of life, that we
Holy grain and pure may be.

For we know that Thou wilt come,
And wilt take Thy people home,
From Thy kingdom in that day
All offences purge away,
And Thine angels charge at last
In the fire the tares to cast,
But the fruitful ears to store
In Thy garner evermore.

Come, then, Lord of mercy, come,
Bid us sing Thy Harvest-Home;
Let Thy saints be gathered in,
Free from sorrow, free from sin,
All upon the golden floor
Praising Thee for evermore :
Come, with thousand angels, come,
Bid us sing Thy Harvest-Home!

179 Let us now fear the Lord, that giveth rain, both the former and the latter, in His season; He reserveth unto us the appointed weeks of harvest.

FAT

ATHER of mercies, God of love,
Whose gifts all creatures share,
The rolling seasons, as they move,
Proclaim Thy constant care.

When in the bosom of the earth
The sower hid the grain,

Thy goodness marked its secret birth,
And sent the early rain.

C.M.

The spring's sweet influence, Lord, was Thine,
The seasons knew Thy call;
Thou mad'st the summer suns to shine,

The summer dews to fall.

The Hand unseen that works above,

Matured the swelling grain;
And now the harvest crowns Thy love,
And plenty fills the plain.

O ne'er may our forgetful hearts

O'erlook Thy bounteous care;

But what our Father's hand imparts,
Still own in praise and prayer.

To Father, Son, and Holy Ghost,
Our praises now be given,

Who in Their blessed Threefold love
Bear record sure in heaven.

With His true saints alone

The courts of heaven are filled;

On His great love

Our hopes we place,

Of present grace
And joys above.

O then, with hymns of praise,

These hallowed courts shall ring!

Our voices we shall raise

The Three in One to sing;

And thus proclaim

In joyful song,

Both loud and long,
That glorious Name.

148

FEAST OF THE DEDICATION OF A CHURCH. 181

Here, gracious God, do Thou
For evermore draw nigh;
Accept each faithful vow,

And mark each suppliant sigh;

In copious shower,

On all who pray

This holy day,

Thy blessings pour.

Here may we gain from heaven
The grace which we implore ;
And may that grace, once given,
Be with us evermore;

Until that day

When all the blest
To endless rest

Are called away.

R

Children's Hymns.

181 Therefore are they before the throne of

God.

AROUND the throne of God in heaven

Thousands of children stand;

Children, whose sins are all forgiven,

A holy, happy band,

Singing glory, glory, glory.

In flowing robes of spotless white
See every one arrayed:
Dwelling in everlasting light,
And joys that never fade :

Singing glory, glory, glory.

Once they were little things, like you,
And lived on earth below,

And could not praise, as now they do,
The Lord who loved them so,

Singing glory, glory, glory.

P.M.