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
