THE TUNE,
One of the chorals—if not the best—to claim partnership with this sacred classic, is John Cole's “Geneva,” distinguished among the few fugue tunes which the singing world refuses to dismiss. There is a growing grandeur in the opening solo and its following duet as they climb the first tetra-chord, when the full harmony suddenly reveals the majesty of the music. The little parenthetic duo at the eighth bar breaks the roll of the song for one breath, and the concord of voices closes in again like a diapason. One thinks of a bird-note making a waterfall listen.
“HARVEST HOME.”
Let us sing of the sheaves, when the summer is done,
And the garners are stored with the gifts of the sun.
Shouting home from the fields like the voice of the sea,
Let us join with the reapers in glad jubilee,—
Refrain.
Harvest home! (double rep.)
Let us chant His praise who has crowned our days
With bounty of the harvest home.
Who hath ripened the fruits into golden and red?
Who hath grown in the valleys our treasures of bread,
That the owner might heap, and the stranger might glean
For the days when the cold of the winter is keen?
Harvest home!
Let us chant, etc.
For the smile of the sunshine, again and again,
For the dew on the garden, the showers on the plain,
For the year, with its hope and its promise that end,
Crowned with plenty and peace, let thanksgiving ascend,
Harvest home!
Let us chant, etc.
We shall gather a harvest of glory, we know,
From the furrows of life where in patience we sow.
Buried love in the field of the heart never dies,
And its seed scattered here will be sheaves in the skies,
Harvest home!
Let us chant, etc.
Thanksgiving Hymn. Boston, 1890. Theron Brown.
Tune “To the Work, To the Work.” W.H. Doane.
“THE GOD OF HARVEST PRAISE.”
Written by James Montgomery in 1840, and published in the Evangelical Magazine as the Harvest Hymn for that year.
The God of harvest praise;
In loud thanksgiving raise
Heart, hand and voice.
The valleys smile and sing,
Forests and mountains sing,
The plains their tribute bring,
The streams rejoice.
* * * * * *
The God of harvest praise;
Hearts, hands and voices raise
With sweet accord;
From field to garner throng,
Bearing your sheaves along,
And in your harvest song
Bless ye the Lord.
Tune, “Dort”—Lowell Mason.
|
|
