4

A. S. Sullivan

GOLDEN SHEAVES 8s, 7. D.

887

TO THEE, O Lord, our hearts we raise
In hymns of adoration,

To Thee bring sacrifice of praise
With shouts of exultation:
Bright robes of gold the fields adorn,

The hills with joy are ringing, The valleys stand so thick with corn

That even they are singing.

2 And now on this our festal day,
Thy bounteous hand confessing,
Upon Thine altar, Lord, we lay
The first-fruits of Thy blessing.
By Thee the souls of men are fed

With gifts of grace supernal,
Thou who dost give us earthly bread,
Give us the Bread eternal.

CAIRNBROOK P. M.

3 We bear the burden of the day,
And often toil seems dreary;
But labor ends with sunset ray,

And rest comes for the weary.
May we, the angel-reaping o'er,
Stand at the last accepted,
Christ's golden sheaves for evermore
To garners bright elected.

4 O, blesséd is that land of God,
Where saints abide for ever;
Where golden fields spread far and broad,
Where flows the crystal river:
The strains of all its holy throng
With ours to-day are blending;
Thrice blesséd is that harvest-song
Which never hath an ending.

William Chatterton Dix 1871

E. Prout

O Al-might-y Giver!

891

THE God of Harvest praise,
In loud thanksgivings raise
Hand, heart, and voice;
The valleys laugh and sing,
Forests and mountains ring,
The plains their tribute bring,
The streams rejoice.

2 Yea, bless His holy name,
And joyous thanks proclaim
Through all the earth;

To glory in your lot
Is comely; but be not
God's benefits forgot
Amidst your mirth.

3 The God of Harvest praise;
Hands, hearts, and voices raise
With one accord;

From field to garner throng,
Bearing your sheaves along,
And in your harvest song
Bless ye the Lord.

James Montgomery 1985

ROSSLYN

7s. D.

C. Simper

MOULTRIE 8s, 7s. D.

G. F. Cobb

4

O4

An-cient of e

894

MIGHTY God! while angels bless Thee,
May a mortal sing Thy name?
Lord of men as well as angels,

Thou art every creature's theme.
Lord of every land and nation,

Ancient of eternal days,
Sounded through the wide creation
Be Thy just and endless praise.
2 For the grandeur of Thy nature,
Grand beyond a seraph's thought;
For the wonders of creation,

Works with skill and kindness wrought; For Thy providence, that governs

Through Thine empire's wide domain, Wings an angel, guides a sparrow; Blesséd be Thy gentle reign.

3 For Thy rich, Thy free redemption,
Bright, though veiled in darkness long,
Thought is poor, and poor expression;
Who can sing that wondrous song?
Brightness of the Father's glory,
Shall Thy praise unuttered lie?
Break, my tongue, such guilty silence,
Sing the Lord who came to die.

4 From the highest throne of glory,
To the cross of deepest woe,
Thou didst stoop to ransom captives;
Flow, my praise, for ever flow:
Re-ascend, Immortal Saviour!

Leave Thy footstool, take Thy throne, Thence return, and reign for ever,

Be the kingdom all Thine own.

Robert Robinson 1774