Harvest.

—Charles D. Bell.

GOOD Lord, the valleys laugh and sing,
The plains stand thick with yellow corn;
The reapers make the echoes ring
With joyous songs from early morn.

The sun shone forth in splendor bright,
And tinged the mountain-tops with gold;
The fields were flooded with his light,
And trees did all their buds unfold.

Thou gavest us refreshing showers,
That shook their treasures o’er the land,
Till blossom’d all the earth with flowers
And hills rejoiced on every hand.

Thy love has given our harvest-store,
And scattered blessings far and wide;
They hand has filled our garner-floor,
And all our harvest wants supplied.

Lord, in Thy holy Name we raise,
With thankful heart and grateful tongue
Our tribute of adoring praise,
Our due and joyful harvest song.

For all things magnify Thy love,
The genial winds, the gentle rain,
Clouds dropping fatness from above,
The blade, the ear, the golden grain.

O Thou, who givest daily bread,
And givest it in plenteous store,
Let all our hungering souls be fed
With bread of life for evermore.

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