878. L. M. Anonymous. The Same.
1 Great God! as seasons disappear,
And changes mark the rolling year,
Thy favor still has crowned our days,
And we would celebrate thy praise.
2 The harvest song we would repeat;
|Thou givest us the finest wheat;|
|The joy of harvest| we have known;
The praise, O Lord! is all thine own.
3 Our tables spread, our garners stored,
O give us hearts to bless thee, Lord!
Forbid it, Source of light and love,
That hearts and lives should barren prove.
4 Another harvest comes apace;
Ripen our spirits by thy grace,
That we may calmly meet the blow
The sickle gives to lay us low.
5 That so, when angel reapers come
To gather sheaves to thy blest home,
Our spirits may be borne on high
To thy safe garner in the sky.