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Hymn 616
Lord of the harvest. Thee we hail
mf Lord of the fiarvest, 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.
mf If spring doth wake the song of mirth;
If summer warms the fruitful earth;
When winter sweeps the naked plain,
Or autumn yields its ripen'd grain, f Still do we sing to Thee, our King;
Through all their changes Thou dost reign.
f 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; ff We too will raise our hymn of praise.
For we Thy common bounties share.
mf 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;
New every year Thy gifts appear;
New praises from our lips shall sound.
Christly Living