Fields of gold are glow­ing
’Neath the au­tumn rays,
Now the spring­tide sow­ing,
All its fruit dis­plays;
Every hill re­joic­es,
Fields with glad­ness ring,
Lifting up their voic­es,
Now the vall­eys sing,
Lifting up their voic­es,
Now the vall­eys sing.

In the dark earth sleep­ing,
Long the seed hath lain;
Joyful now the reap­ing,
Fair the gar­nered grain.
As the gold we gather
Of Thine har­vest gift,
Now to Thee, our Fa­ther,
Thankful hearts we lift;
Now to Thee, our Fa­ther,
Thankful hearts we lift.

We are Thine own sow­ing,
Dear, O Lord, to Thee;
For Thine har­vest grow­ing,
We would fruit­ful be.
When, their bright sheaves bear­ing,
Angel reap­ers come;
We with them be shar­ing,
In Thy Har­vest Home;
We with them be shar­ing,
In Thy Har­vest Home.

To Thee, Lord of Hea­ven,
Thee, O boun­te­ous King,
Gifts Thy love hath giv­en,
We would glad­ly bring.
Thou of all art giv­er,
Father, Spir­it, Son,
Thine the praise for­ev­er,
Blessèd Three in One;
Thine the praise for­ev­er,
Blessèd Three in One.