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f 3 Praise to our God ; (m) the Vine He set f 5 Praise to our God; (P) who still forbears, Within our coasts is fruitful yet;

Who still this guilty nation spares ; On many a shore her seedlings grow; px Who calls us still to seek His face,

'Neath many a sun her clusters glow. (And lengthens out our day of grace. f 4 Praise to our God; (m) His power f 6 Praise to our God; (m) though chastenalone

ings stern Can keep unmoved our ancient Throne, Our evil dross should throughly burn; Sustained by counsels wise and just, His rod and staff, from age to age, And guarded by a people's trust.

Shall ruleand guide His heritage! Amen.

Also the following :--
Now thank we all our God (439). Sing to the Lord a joyful song (498). -

HARVEST.
ST. GEORGE.

SIR GEORGE ELVEY.

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276 He will gather His wheat into the garner."-St. Matt. iii. 12. f 1 COME, ye thankful people, come, 3 For the Lord our God shall come, Raise the song of Harvest-Home !

And shall take His harvest home; All is safely gathered in,

p From His field shall in that day Ere the winter storms begin :

ÞAll offences purge away ; God, our Maker, doth provide

p Give His Angels charge at last For our wants to be supplied :

p In the fire the tares to cast; Come to God's own temple, come, cres. But the fruitful ears to store

Raise the song of Harvest-Home ! In His garner evermore.
M 2 All the world is God's own field, 4 Even so, Lord, quickly come,
Fruit unto His praise to yield ;

To Thy final Harvest-Home !
Wheat and tares together sown,

Gather Thou Thy people in, Unto joy or sorrow grown ;

Free from sorrow, free from sin ; First the blade, and then the ear,

There, for ever purified,
Then the full corn shall appear :

In Thy presence to abide :
Lord of harvest, grant that we

Come, with all Thine Angels, come, Wholesome grain and pure may be. O! Raise the glorious Harvest-Home !

Amen.

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Neither is he that planteth any thing, neither he that watereth;

but God that giveth the increase."-1 Cor. iii. 7.

I HOLY is the seed-time, when the buried grain cres. Sinks to sleep in darkness, but to wake again.

Holy is the spring-time, when the living corn cres. Bursting from its prison riseth like the morn.

2 Holy is the harvest, when each ripened ear,

Bending to the sickle, crowns the golden year.
Store them in our garners ; winnow them with care ;
f Give to God the glory in our praise and prayer.
3 Holy seed our Master soweth in His field :

Be the harvest holy which our hearts shall yield ;
p Be our bodies holy, resting in the clay,
cres. Till the Resurrection summons them away.
F 4 Glory to the Father, who beheld our need ;

Glory to the Saviour, who hath sown the seed ;
Glory to the Spirit, giving the increase ;
Glory, as it has been, is, and ne'er shall cease! Amen.

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978 “Except a corn of wheat fall into the ground and die, it abideth alone: but

if it die, it bringeth forth much fruit."-St. John xii. 24. I LORD of the frost-bound Winter, F 5 A thousand times ten thousand, Lord of the happy Spring,

Here in Thy harvest-field,
Who sendest golden Summer,

Good in His glorious goodness,
And Autumn's ripening;

In Him their fulness yield. 2 Lord of the waving harvest

f 6 And they again upspringing,
That smiles on hill and plain, dim. E'en from the cold dark tomb,
Bringing the living wheat-plant cres. Shall wear His golden beauty,
From out the dead dry grain ;

f At Thy great Harvest-Home. 3 A holier Seed Thou sowedst

7 Oh! keep us, Lord, for ever ; That Seed Thy blessed Son,

Thy living Spirit give; as Who died, and who was buried

With Christ from sin to perish, P] In the dark earth alone.

In Christ for aye to live. 4 But not alone uprose He ;

F 8 All praise to God the Father,
He was the first good fruit ;

All praise to God the Son,
AS A thousand times ten thousand

All praise to God the Spirit, n Live in that living Root.

Eternal Three in One! Amen.

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279 The Lord hath dealt bountifully with thee.—Ps. cxvi. 7.
F 1 LORD of the Harvest! Thee we hail; 3 But chiefly when Thy liberal hand

Thine ancient promise doth not fail ; Scatters new plenty o'er the land,
The varying seasons haste their round; When sounds of music fill the air,
With goodness all our years are As homeward all their treasures bear ;
Our thanks we pay, [crowned ;

We too will raise
This holy day;

Our hymn of praise, Oh, lei our hearts in tune be found! For we Thy common bounties share. 2 When Spring doth wake the song of 4 Lord of the Harvest ! all is Thine ; mirth,

The rains that fall, the suns that shine,
When Summer warms the fruitful earth, The seed once hidden in the ground,
When Winter sweeps the naked plain, The skill that makes our fruits abound;
Or Autumn yields its ripened grain,-

New, every year,
Still do we sing

Thy gifts appear ;
To Thee, our King ; (reign. New praises from our lips shall sound.
Through all their changes Thou dost

Amen.

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280

Because the Lord thy God shall bless thee in all thine increase,
and in all the works of thine hands, therefore thou

shalt surely rejoice.”-Deut. xvi. 15.

F 1 PRAISE to God, immortal praise,

For the love that crowns our days;
Bounteous source of every joy,
Let Thy praise our tongues employ:
All to Thee, our God, we owe,
Source whence all our blessings flow.

2 All the blessings of the fields,

All the stores the garden yields,
Flocks that whiten all the plain,
Yellow sheaves of ripened grain :
Lord, for these our souls shall raise
Grateful vows and solemn praise.
3 Clouds that drop refreshing dews,

Suns that genial warmth diffuse,
All the plenty Summer pours,
Autumn's rich o'erflowing stores :
Lord, for these our souls shall raise
Grateful vows and solemn praise.
4 As Thy prospering hand hath blest,
May we give Thee of our best ;
And by deeds of kindly love
For Thy mercies grateful prove;
Singing thus through all our days,
Praise to God, immortal praise. Amen.

GOLDEN SHEAVES.

8.7.8.7. D.

ARTHUR SULLIVAN.

men.

281

I will pay my vows unto the Lord now in the presence of all

His people.”—Ps. cxvi. 14.

F 1 To Thee, O Lord, our hearts we raise, 2 And now, on this our festal day,
In hymns of adoration ;

Thy bounteous hand confessing, To Thee bring sacrifice of praise, Upon Thine Altar, Lord, we lay With shouts of exultation.

The first-fruits of Thy blessing : Bright robes of gold the fields adorn, By Thee the souls of men are fed The hills with joy are ringing ;

With gifts of grace supernal ;
The valleys stand so thick with corn, Thou who dost give us daily bread,
That even they are singing.

Give us the Bread Eternal.
p 3 We bear the burden of the day,
D And often toil seems dreary,
cres. But labour ends with sunset ray,
dim. And rest is for the weary:

m May we, the Angel-reaping o'er,
cres. Stand at the last accepted,

Christ's golden sheaves for evermore

To garners bright elected !
4 Oh! blessed is that land of God,

Where saints abide for ever ;
Where golden fields spread fair and broad,

Where flows the crystal river.
'The strains of all its holy throng

With ours to-day are blending ;
Thrice blessed is that harvest song
Which never hath an ending! Amen.

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