Winter reigns o’er ma­ny a re­gion,
Many a seed field fal­low lies;
When, O Lord, shall come the spring­time,
With its quick­en­ing en­er­gies?
When shall this long night be end­ed?
When the morn­ing dawn ap­pear?
When shall drought give place to fresh­ness?
When these de­serts bloom with cheer?

Lord, Thy Church is ev­er pray­ing:
Now her anx­ious yearn­ings hear;
Speed the tri­umphs of Thy king­dom;
Spread its vic­t’ries far and near;
Own the work, Thy grace at­tend it,
Which we un­der­take for Thee;
Let a ho­ly love in­flame us;
Kindle zeal and fer­ven­cy.

That Thy fields be right­ly cul­tured,
Send the la­bor­ers that we need,
Men to light the hea­vy dark­ness,
Sow the wastes with pre­cious seed.
Then send down the gen­tle show­ers,
Make Thy gra­cious sun­light shine,
That each field may joy with bless­ing,
Bringing forth the fruits di­vine.

By the breez­es of Thy Spi­rit,
Fan all dead­ness in­to life;
Bless the seeds to Thee up­spring­ing,
Keep each plant from blast and strife.
And, ye toil­ers in this seed­ing,
Know the pr­omise God hath giv­en:
Glorious crowns await the faith­ful,
And eter­nal gains in Hea­ven.