3 Lord, upon our blindness Make us love Thee more. 4 We will never doubt Thee, Death with Thee is bright. On our pilgrim way; To the endless day. Wm. Walsham How, 1871 1 NOME, ye thankful people, come, Raise the song of harvest-home! All is safely gathered 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! 2 All the world is 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:Lord of harvest, grant that we Wholesome grain and pure may be. 3 For the Lord our God shall come, 4 Even so, Lord, quickly come Come, with all Thine angels, come, For grass-es of up-land and low land, For fruits of the garden and field, 护 NOW sing we a song for the harvest: Thanksgiving and honor and praise For all that the bountiful Giver Hath given to gladden our days, For grasses of upland and lowland, For fruits of the garden and field, For gold which the mine and the furrow To delver and husbandman yield. 2 And thanks for the harvest of beauty, For that which the hands cannot hold, — The harvest eyes only can gather, And only our hearts can enfold. We reap it on mountain and moorland; We glean it from meadow and lea; We garner it in from the cloudland; We bind it in sheaves from the sea. 3 But the song it goes deeper and higher; There are harvests that eye cannot see; They ripen on mountains of duty, Are reaped by the brave and the free. O Thou, who art Lord of the harvest, The Giver who gladdens our days, Our hearts are for ever repeating Thanksgiving and honor and praise. John W. Chadwick, 1871 |