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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