878. L. M. Anonymous.
The Same.
1Great God! as seasons disappear,
And changes mark the rolling year,
Thy favor still has crowned our days,
And we would celebrate thy praise.
2The 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.
3Our 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.
4Another harvest comes apace;
Ripen our spirits by thy grace,
That we may calmly meet the blow
The sickle gives to lay us low.
5That 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.