The God of har­vest praise,
In loud thanks­giv­ings, raise
Hand, heart, and voice;
The val­leys laugh and sing,
Forests and mount­ains ring,
The plains their trib­ute bring,
The streams re­joice.

Of food for man and beast,
Jehovah spreads a feast,
Above, be­neath:
Ye herds and flocks, draw near,
Fowls, ye are wel­come here;
His good­ness crowns the year
For all that breathe.

Garden and or­chard ground,
Autumnal fruits have crowned,
The vin­tage glows:
Here plen­ty pours her horn;
There the full tide of corn,
Swayed by the breath of morn,
The land o’er­flows.

The wind, the rain, the sun,
Their ge­ni­al work have done;
Wouldst thou be fed?
Man, to thy la­bor bow,
Thrust in the sick­le now,
Reap where thou once didst plough,
God sends thee bread.

Thy few seeds scat­tered wide,
His hand hath mul­ti­plied;
Here thou may’st find
Christ’s mi­ra­cle re­newed;
With self-pro­duc­ing food,
He feeds a mul­ti­tude—
He feeds man­kind.

The God of har­vest praise;
Hands, hearts, and voic­es raise
With one ac­cord;
From field to gar­ner throng,
Bearing your sheaves along;
And in your har­vest song,
Bless ye the Lord.

Yea, bless His ho­ly name,
And your souls’ thanks pro­claim
Through all the earth:
To glo­ry in your lot
Is come­ly—but be not
His be­ne­fits fo­rgot
Amidst your mirth.