Lord of the harvest! once again
We thank Thee for the ripen'd grain ;
For crops safe carried, sent to cheer
Thy servants through another year;
For all sweet holy thoughts supplied
By seed-time, and by harvest-tide.
The bare dead grain, in autumn sown,
Its robe of vernal green puts on;
Glad from its wintry grave it springs,
Fresh garnish'd by the King of kings:
So, Lord, to those who sleep in Thee
Shall new and glorious bodies be.
Nor vainly of Thy Word we ask
A lesson from the reaper's task;
So shall Thine angels issue forth;
The tares be burnt; the just of earth,
Playthings of sun and storm no more,
Be gather'd to their Father's store.
Daily, O Lord, our prayers be said,
As Thou hast taught, for daily bread ;
But not alone our bodies feed;
Supply our fainting spirits' need!
O Bread of Life! from day to day,
Be Thou their Comfort, Food, and Stay!
Joseph Anstice. [1836.]
Come, ye thankful people, come,
Raise the song of Harvest-Home!
All is safely gather'd 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!
We ourselves are 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 :
Grant, O harvest Lord, that we
Wholesome grain and pure may be !
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 fire the tares to cast,
But the fruitful ears to store
In His garner evermore.
Then, thou Church triumphant, come,
Raise the song of Harvest-Home!
All are safely gather'd in,
Free from sorrow, free from sin ;
There for ever purified,
In God's garner to abide :
Come, ten thousand Angels, come,
Raise the glorious Harvest-Home!
Another year hath fled; renew,
Lord, with our days Thy love!
Our days are evil here and few ;
We look to live above :
We will not grieve, though day by day
We pass from earthly joys away;
Our joy abides in Thee;
Our joy abides in Thee!
Yet, when our sins we call to mind,
We cannot fail to grieve;
But Thou art pitiful and kind,
And wilt our prayer receive:
O Jesu, evermore the same,
Our hope we rest upon Thy Name;
Our hope abides in Thee;
Our hope abides in Thee!
For all the future, Lord, prepare
Our souls with strength Divine ;
Help us to cast on Thee our care,
And on Thy servants shine:
Life without Thee is dark and drear ;
Death is not death if Thou art near;
Our life abides in Thee;
Our life abides in Thee !
Arthur Tozer Russell. 1851.
Harp, awake! tell out the story
Of our love and joy and praise;
Lute, awake! awake our glory!
Join a thankful song to raise !
Join we, brethren faithful-hearted,
Lift the solemn voice again
O'er another year departed
Of our threescore years and ten!
Lo! a theme for deepest sadness,
In ourselves with sin defiled;
Lo! a theme for holiest gladness,
In our Father reconciled!
In the dust we bend before Thee,
Lord of sinless hosts above;
Yet in lowliest joy adore Thee,
God of mercy, grace, and love!
Gracious Saviour! Thou hast lengthen'd
And hast blest our mortal span,
And in our weak hearts hast strengthen'd
What Thy grace alone began!
Still, when danger shall betide us,
Be Thy warning whisper heard ;
Keep us at Thy feet, and guide us
By Thy Spirit and Thy Word!
Let Thy favour and Thy blessing
Crown the year we now begin;
Let us all, Thy strength possessing,
Grow in grace, and vanquish sin!
Storms are round us, hearts are quailing,
Signs in heaven and earth and sea;
But, when heaven and earth are failing,
Saviour! we will trust in Thee!
Henry Downton. [1851.]
Awake, ye saints, and raise your eyes,
And raise your voices high;
Awake, and praise that sovereign love
That shows Salvation nigh.
On all the wings of time it flies,
Each moment brings it near;
Then welcome each declining day,
Welcome each closing year!
Not many years their round shall run,
Nor many mornings rise,
Ere all its glories stand reveal'd
To our admiring eyes!
Ye wheels of nature, speed your course!
Ye mortal powers, decay!
Fast as ye bring the night of death,
Ye bring eternal day!
While with ceaseless course the sun
Hasted through the former year,
Many souls their race have run,
Never more to meet us here:
Fix'd in an eternal state,
They have done with all below;
We a little longer wait,
But how little, none can know.
|