We lift our eyes, our hands, to Thee,
Our knees, our souls, to Thee we bend;
Thou Father of earth’s fa­mi­ly,
Th’appoint­ed weeks of har­vest send.

The ground, Thy ta­ble, is full spread
With food to nour­ish man and beast;
Hast Thou pre­pared the child­ren’s bread,
And wilt Thou now for­bid the feast?

In sum­mer, winter, day and night,
Both seed time, har­vest, Thou hast willed;
And dew and rain, and warmth and light,
Have each their gra­cious work ful­filled.

Shall whelm­ing floods the hopes de­stroy
Of those who in Thy pro­mise trust?
Shall storms pre­vent the reap­er’s joy,
And lay his con­fi­dence in dust?

O bid the winds and wa­ters cease,
The low­er­ing fir­ma­ment un­shroud;
Think on Thy co­ve­nant of peace,
Look on Thy bow—’tis in the cloud!

We fall ad­or­ing at Thy feet,
Our pray­er is heard, the veil is riv­en;
With pure heart of­fer­ings let us eat
The bread that com­eth down from Heav’n.