1230 L. M. Seed-time and harvest.
Eternal Source of every joy, Well may thy praise our lips employ, While in thy temple we appear, Whose goodness crowns the circling year.
2 The flowery spring at thy command Embalms the air and paints the land; The summer rays with vigor shine, To raise the corn and cheer the vine.
3 Thy hand in autumn richly pours Through all our coasts redundant stores, And winters, softened by thy care, No more a face of horror wear.
4 Seasons and months, and weeks and days, Demand successive songs of praise; Still be the cheerful homage paid With opening light and evening shade!
5 O! may our more harmonious tongues In worlds unknown pursue the songs; And in those brighter courts adore, Where days and years revolve no more!
1231 C. M. Psalm 147.
With songs and honors sounding loud, Address the Lord on high; Over the heaven’s he spreads his cloud, And waters vail the sky.
2 He sends his showers of blessings down To cheer the plains below; He makes the grass the mountains crown, And corn in valleys grow.
3 His steady counsels change the face Of the declining year; He bids the sun cut short his race, And wintery days appear.
4 His hoary frost, his fleecy snow, Descend and clothe the ground; The liquid streams forbear to flow, In icy fetters bound.
5 He sends his word, and melts the snow, The fields no longer mourn; He calls the warmer gales to blow, And bids the spring return.
6 The changing wind, the flying cloud, Obey his mighty word; With songs and honors sounding loud, Praise ye the sovereign Lord.
1232 C. M. Thou crownest the year with thy goodness. Psalm 65:3.
Fountain of life, and God of love! How rich thy bounties are! The rolling seasons, as they move, Proclaim thy constant care.
2 When in the bosom of the earth The sower hid the grain, Thy goodness marked its secret birth, And sent the early rain.
3 The spring’s sweet influence, Lord, was thine, Its mild, refreshing showers; Thou gavest the ripening suns to shine, And summer’s golden hours.
4 Thy quickening life, for ever near, Matured the swelling grain; The bounteous harvest crowns the year, And plenty fills the plain.
5 With thankful hearts we trace thy way Through all our smiling vales; Thou, by whose love, nor night nor day, Seed-time nor harvest, fails!
1233 S. M. Psalm 126:6.
The harvest dawn is near, The year delays not long; And he who sows with many a tear, Shall reap with many a song.
2 Sad to his toil he goes, His seed with weeping leaves; But he shall come, at twilight’s close, And bring his golden sheaves.
1234 6s & 4s. The God of harvest praise.
The God of harvest praise; In loud thanksgiving raise Hand, heart and voice; The valleys smile and sing, Forests and mountains ring, The plains their tribute bring, The streams rejoice.
2 Yea, bless his holy name, And purest thanks proclaim Through all the earth; To glory in your lot Is duty—but be not God’s benefits forgot, Amidst your mirth.
3 The God of harvest praise; Hands, hearts, and voices raise, With sweet accord: From field to garner throng, Bearing your sheaves along, And in your harvest song, Bless ye the Lord.
1235 7s, 6 lines. The little hills rejoice on every side. Psalm 65:12.
Praise, and thanks, and cheerful love, Rise from everything below, To the mighty One above, Who his wondrous love doth show: Praise him, each created thing! God, your Maker; God of spring!
2 Praise him, trees so lately bare; Praise him, fresh and new-born flowers; All ye creatures of the air, All ye soft-descending showers, Praise, with each awakening thing, God, your Maker; God of spring!
3 Praise him, man!—thy fitful heart Let this balmy season move To employ its noblest part, Gentlest mercy, sweetest love; Blessing, with each living thing, God, your Father; God of spring!
1236 7s, double. Harvest-Home.
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!
2 We ourselves are God’s own field, Fruit unto his praise to yield; Wheat and tares together sown, Unto joy our 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 purge away All that doth offend, that day; Give his angels charge at last In the fires the tares to cast, But the fruitful ears to store In his garner evermore.