Harvest

See! the corn again in ear!

How the fields and valleys smile!

Harvest now is drawing

To repay the farmer's toil:

Gracious Lord, secure the crop,

Satisfy the poor with food;

In thy mercy is our hope,

We have sinned but thou art good.

While I view the plenteous

As it ripens on the stalk;

May I not instruction gain,

Helpful, to my daily walk?

All this plenty of the

Was produced from foreign seeds;

For the earth itself would

Only crops of useless weeds.

Though, when newly sawn, it

Hid awhile beneath the ground,

Some might think it thrown

Now a large increase is found:

Though concealed, it was not lost,

Though it died, it lives again;

Eastern storms, and nipping

Have opposed its growth in vain.

Let the praise be all the Lord's,

As the benefit is ours!

He, in seasons, still

Kindly heat, and gentle flow'rs:

By his care the produce

Waving o'er the furrowed lands;

And when harvest-time arrives,

Ready for the reaper stands. Thus in barren hearts he

Precious seeds of heav'nly joy;

Sin, and hell, in vain oppose,

None can grace's crop destroy:

Threatened oft, yet still it blooms,

After many changes past,

Death, the reaper, when he comes,

Finds it fully ripe at last.

Olney Hymn