654 Lord of harvest Thee we hail
They rejoice before the according to the joy in
harvest.
Isa. 9:3
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 crown’d
Our thanks we pay This holy
day;
Oh let our hearts in tune be
found.
If spring doth wake the song
of mirth;
If summer warms the fruitful
earth;
When winter sweeps the naked
plain,
Still do we sing to Thee, our
King;
Through all their changes
Thou dost reign.
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.
Lord of the harvest, all is
Thine:
The rains hat fall, the suns
that shine
The seed once hidden in the
ground,
The skill that makes our
fruits abound;
New every year Thy gifts
appear;
New praises from our lips
shall sound.
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