f3 Praise to our God; (m) the Vine He set
Within our coasts is fruitful yet;
On many a shore her seedlings grow ;
'Neath many a sun her clusters glow.
f4 Praise to our God; (m) His power
Can keep unmoved our ancient Throne,
Sustained by counsels wise and just,
And guarded by a people's trust.
f5 Praise to our God; (p) who still forbears,
Who still this guilty nation spares;
Who calls us still to seek His face,
And lengthens out our day of grace.
f6 Praise to our God; (m) though chasten-
ings stern
Our evil dross should throughly burn;
His rod and staff, from age to age,
Shall rule and guide His heritage! Amen.
Now thank we all our God (439). SING to the Lord a joyful song (498).
"He will gather His wheat into the garner."-St. Matt. iii. 12.
FI COME, ye thankful people, come,
Raise the song of Harvest-Home!
All is safely gathered in,
Ere the winter storms begin :
God, our Maker, doth provide
For our wants to be supplied :-
Come to God's own temple, come,
Raise the song of Harvest-Home!
M 2 All the world is God's own field,
Fruit unto His praise to yield;
Wheat and tares together sown,
Unto joy or sorrow grown;
First the blade, and then the ear,
Then the full corn shall appear:
Lord of harvest, grant that we
Wholesome grain and pure may be.
3 For the Lord our God shall come,
And shall take His harvest home;
From His field shall in that day
All offences purge away;
Give His Angels charge at last
In the fire the tares to cast;
cres. But the fruitful ears to store
In His garner evermore.
4 Even so, Lord, quickly come,
To Thy final Harvest-Home!
Gather Thou Thy people in,
Free from sorrow, free from sin;
There, for ever purified,
In Thy presence to abide :
Come, with all Thine Angels, come,
Raise the glorious Harvest-Home!
"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;
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.
"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,
Lord of the happy Spring,
Who sendest golden Summer,
And Autumn's ripening;
2 Lord of the waving harvest
That smiles on hill and plain, Bringing the living wheat-plant
From out the dead dry grain ;
3 A holier Seed Thou sowedst-
That Seed Thy blessed Son,
Who died, and who was buried
In the dark earth alone.
4 But not alone uprose He;
He was the first good fruit ; A thousand times ten thousand Live in that living Root.
F 5 A thousand times ten thousand,
Here in Thy harvest-field,
Good in His glorious goodness,
In Him their fulness yield.
f 6 And they again upspringing,
dim. E'en from the cold dark tomb,
cres. Shall wear His golden beauty,
At Thy great Harvest-Home.
7 Oh! keep us, Lord, for ever;
Thy living Spirit give;
With Christ from sin to perish,
In Christ for aye to live.
F 8 All praise to God the Father,
All praise to God the Son,
All praise to God the Spirit,
Eternal Three in One! Amen.
"The Lord hath dealt bountifully with thee."-Ps. cxvi. 7.
FI LORD of the Harvest! Thee we hail;
Thine ancient promise doth not fail;
The varying seasons haste their round;
With goodness all our years are
Our thanks we pay,
[crowned;
This holy day;
Oh, let our hearts in tune be found!
2 When Spring doth wake the song of
3 But chiefly when Thy liberal hand
Scatters new plenty o'er the land,
When sounds of music fill the air,
As homeward all their treasures bear;
We too will raise
Our hymn of praise,
For we Thy common bounties share.
4 Lord of the Harvest ! all is Thine;
The rains that fall, the suns that shine,
The seed once hidden in the ground,
The skill that makes our fruits abound;
"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.
FI 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.
"I will pay my vows unto the Lord now in the presence of all
His people."-Ps. cxvi. 14.
FI To Thee, O Lord, our hearts we raise, 2 And now, on this our festal day,
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.
Thy bounteous hand confessing, Upon Thine Altar, Lord, we lay
The first-fruits of Thy blessing: By Thee the souls of men are fed With gifts of grace supernal; Thou who dost give us daily bread, Give us the Bread Eternal.
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