Now Sing We a Song for the Harvest

Now sing we a song for the har­vest;

Thanksgiving and hon­or and praise

For all that the boun­ti­ful Giv­er

Hath given to glad­den our days.

For grass­es of up­land and low­land

For fruits of the gar­den and field

For gold which the mine and fur­row

To del­ver and hus­band­man yield.

And thanks for the har­vest of beau­ty

For that which the hands can­not hold;

The har­vest

eyes on­ly can ga­ther

And on­ly our hearts can en­fold.

We reap it on mount­ain and moor­land

We glean it from mea­dow and lea

We gar­ner it from the cloud-land

We bind it in sheaves from the sea.

But now we sing deep­er and high­er

Of har­vests the eye can­not see;

They rip­en on mount­ains of du­ty

Are reaped by the brave and the free.

O Thou who art Lord of the har­vest

The Giv­er who glad­dens our days

Our hearts are for­ev­er re­peat­ing

Thanksgiving

and hon­or

and praise!