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Now sing we a song
for the harvest:
Thanksgiving and honour 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;
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.
But the song goes
yet 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
honour and praise.
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marker 99
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LYRICS
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Meter:
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9 8 9 8 Dactylic
|
|
Writer(s):
|
|
|
Trans/Adapted:
|
| |
Dates:
|
|
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Bible Refs:
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LIST OF LYRIC SOURCES
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Hymn/Song Book
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Year
|
Song #
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| 1962 | # 727 |
MUSIC
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Name:
|
ST. SULIEN
|
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Meter:
|
9 8 9 8 Dactylic
|
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Writer(s):
|
|
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Dates:
|
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LIST OF MUSIC SOURCES
|
Hymn/Song Book
|
Song #
|
Key
|
| # 727 | G |
echo ' | ';
|
Hymn Writer
