To tell their labors through the year,
And lay the harvest at thy feet.
2The reapers cry, "Thy fields are white,
All ready to be gathered in,
And harvests wave in changing light,
Far as the eye can trace the scene."
3Lord, bless us while we here remain;
With holy love our bosoms fill;
O may thy doctrine drop like rain,
And like the silent dew distil.