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,