Lord of the har­vest, once again,
We thank Thee for the rip­ened grain;
For crops safe car­ried, sent to cheer
Thy ser­vants through an­oth­er year;
For all sweet ho­ly thoughts sup­plied
By seed time, and by har­vest tide.

The bare dead grain, in au­tumn sown,
Its robe of ver­nal green it puts on;
Glad from its wint­ry grave it springs,
Fresh gar­nished by the King of kings;
So, Lord, to those who sleep in Thee
Shall new and glo­ri­ous bo­dies be.

Nor vain­ly of Thy Word we ask
A les­son from the reape­r’s task:
So shall Thine an­gels is­sue forth:
The tares be burnt; the just of earth,
To wind and storm ex­posed no more,
Be ga­thered to their Fa­ther’s store.

Daily, O Lord, our pray­ers be said,
As Thou hast taught, for dai­ly bread;
But not alone our bo­dies feed,
Supply our faint­ing spi­rits’ need:
O Bread of life, from day to day
Be Thou their com­fort, food, and stay.