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[6, 8, 4. Tune, Leoni. Page 406.]

THIRD PART. 1077 Joining the heavenly choir. 1 THE God who reigns on high

The great archangels sing,
And, "Holy, holy, holy," cry,

Almighty King !
Who was and is the same,

And evermore shall be;
Jehovah, Father, great I AM,

We worship thee.” 2 Before the Saviour's face

The ransomed nations bow;
O'erwhelmed at his almighty grace,

Forever new :
He shows his prints of love, -

They kindle to a flame,
And sound through all the worlds above,

The slaughtered Lamb! 3 The whole triumphant host

Give thanks to God on high; “Hail, Father, Son, and Holy Ghost,"

They ever cry:
Hail, Abrah’m's God, and mine!-

I join the heavenly lays,-
All might and majesty are thine,

And endless praise.

[C. P. M. Tune, Ganges. Page 243.] 1078 The pilgrim's lot. 1 How happy is the pilgrim's lot, How free from every anxious thought,

From worldly hope and fear! Confined to neither court nor cell, His soul disdains on earth to dwell,

He only sojourns here.
2 This happiness in part is mine,
Already saved from low design,

From every creature-love;
Blest with the scorn of finite good,
My soul is lightened of its load,

And seeks the things above. 3 There is my house and portion fair; My treasure and my heart are there,

And my abiding home;
For me my elder brethren stay,
And angels beckon me away,

And Jesus bids me come. 4 “I come,” thy servant, Lord, replies, “ I come to meet thee in the skies,

And claim my heavenly rest!
Now let the pilgrim's journey end;
Now, O my Saviour, Brother, Friend,
Receive me to thy breast !"




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C. M.


1080 the fruit of the seasons.

4 These various mercies from above 1 LORD, in thy name thy servants plead,

Matured the swelling grain; And thou hast sworn to hear ;

A kindly harvest crowns thy love, Thine is the harvest, thine the seed,

And plenty fills the plain. The fresh and fading year.

5 We own and bless thy gracious sway; 2 Our hope, when autumn winds blew wild, Thy hand all nature hails : We trusted, Lord, with thee;

Seed-time nor harvest, night nor day, And still, now spring has on us smiled,

Summer nor winter, fails.

MRS, ALICE FLOWERDEW, We wait on thy decree. 3 The former and the latter rain,

[L. M. Tune, Duke Street. Page 320.] The summer sun and air,

1082 Eternal Source of every joy. The green ear, and the golden grain, All thine, are ours by prayer.

1 ETERNAL Source of every joy, 4 Thine, too, by right, and ours by grace,

Well may thy praise our lips employ, The wondrous growth unseen,

While in thy temple we appear, The hopes that soothe, the fears that brace,

Whose goodness crowns the circling year. The love that shines serene.

2 The flowery spring, at thy command, Embalms the air and paints the land;

The summer rays with vigor shine, 1081

To raise the corn and cheer the vine. Bountiful goodness. FOUNTAIN of mercy, God of love,

3 Thy hand in autumn richly pours How rich thy bounties are!

Through all our coasts redundant stores; The rolling seasons, as they move,

And winters, softened by thy care, Proclaim thy constant care.

No more a face of horror wear. 12 When in the bosom of the earth

4 Seasons, and months, and weeks, and The sower hid the grain,

days, Thy goodness marked its secret birth, Demand successive songs of praise; And sent the early rain.

Still be the cheerful homage paid,

With opening light and evening shade. 3 The spring's sweet influence, Lord, was thine;

5 Here in thy house shall incense rise, The plants in beauty grew;

And circling Sabbaths bless our eyes, Thou gav'st refulgent suns to shine,

Till to those lofty heights we soar, And the refreshing dew.

Where days and years revolve no more




7. D.



Harvest-home. 1 COME, ye thankful people, come, Raise the song of harvest-home: All is safely gathered in, Ere the winter storms begin ; God, our Maker, doth provide For our wants to be supplied : Come to God's own temple, come, Raise the song of harvest-home. 2 All the world is God's own field, Fruit unto his praise to yield; Wheat and tares together sown, Unto joy or sorrow grown; First the blade, and then the ear, Then the full corn shall appear: Lord of harvest, grant that we Wholesome grain and pure may be. 3 For the Lord our God shall come, And shall take his harvest home; From his field shall in that day All offenses purge away; Give his angels charge at last In the fire the tares to cast; But the fruitful ears to store In his garner evermore. 4 Even so, Lord, quickly come To thy final harvest-home; Gather thou thy people in, Free from sorrow, free from sin; There, forever purified, In thy presence to abide: Come, with all thine angels, come, Raise the glorious harvest-home.

1084 Thanksgiving hymn. 1 PRAISE to God, immortal praise, For the love that crowns our days! Bounteous Source of every joy, Let thy praise our tongues employ. 2 For the blessings of the field, For the stores the gardens yield; For the fruits in full supply, Ripened 'neath the summer sky; 3 All that spring with bounteous hand Scatters o'er the smiling land; All that liberal autumn pours From her rich, o'erflowing stores; 4 These to thee, my God, we owe, Source whence all our blessings flow; And for these my soul shall raise Grateful vows and solemn praise. 5 Should thine altered hand restrain The early and the latter rain; Blast each opening hud of joy, And the rising year destroy ; 6 Yet to thee my soul should raise Grateful vows and solemn praise; And, when every blessing 's flown, Love thee for thyself alone.


Doxology. SING we to our God above, Praise eternal as his love; Praise him, all ye heavenly host, Father, Son, and Holy Ghost !






1085 Praise to the Lord of harvest. 1 Sing to the Lord of harvest !

Sing songs of love and praise! With joyful hearts and voices

Your hallelujahs raise: By him the rolling seasons

In fruitful order move; Sing to the Lord of harvest

A song of happy love. 2 By him the clouds drop fatness,

The deserts bloom and spring, The hills leap up in gladness,

The valleys laugh and sing: He filleth with his fullness

All things with large increase, He crowns the year with goodness,

With plenty, and with peace. 3 Heap on his sacred altar

The gifts his goodness gave,
The golden sheaves of harvest,

The souls he died to save:
Your hearts lay down before him

When at his feet ye fall,
And with your lives adore him

Who gave his life for all.
4 To God, the gracious Father,

Who made us “very good, To Christ, who, when we wandered Restored us with his blood,

And to the Holy Spirit,

Who doth upon us pour
His blessed dews and sunshine,
Be praise for evermore!

JOHN S. D. MONSELL. 1036 God's gifts in nature. 1 WE plow the fields and scatter

The good seed on the land, But it is fed and watered

By God's almighty hand; He sends the snow in winter,

The warmth to swell the grain, The breezes and the sunshine,

And soft refreshing rain. 2 He only is the Maker

of all things near and far; He paints the wayside flower,

He lights the evening star; The winds and waves obey him,

By bim the birds are fed; Much more to us, his children,

He gives our daily bread. 3 We thank thee, then, O Father,

For all things bright and good, The seed-time and the harvest,

Our life, our health, our food;
Accept the gifts we offer

For all thy love imparts,
And, what thou most desirest,
Our humble, thankful hearts.





The day, in night declining,

Says I must, too, decline; The year, its life resigning,

Its lot foreshadows mine.

1087 Praise to the God of harvest. 1 THE God of harvest praise; In loud thanksgiving raise

Hand, heart, and voice; The valleys laugh and sing, Forests and mountains ring, The plains their tribute bring,

The streams rejoice.
2 Yea, bless his holy name,
And joyful thanks proclaim

Through all the earth;
To glory in your lot
Is comely,—but be not
God's benefits forgot,

Amid your mirth.
3 The God of harvest praise;
Hands, hearts, and voices raise

With one accord;
From field to garner throng,
Bearing your sheaves along,
And in your harvest song

Bless ye the Lord.

2 The light my path surrounding,

The loves, to which I cling, The hopes within me bounding,

The joys that round me wing, All melt, like stars of even,

Before the morning's ray, Pass upward unto heaven,

And chide at my delay. 3 The friends, gone there before me,

Are calling from on high; And joyous angels o'er me

Tempt sweetly to the sky: “Why wait,” they say, “and wither

'Mið scenes of death and sin? O rise to glory, hither,

And find true life begin." 4 I hear the invitation,

And fain would rise and come,-
A sinner, to salvation;

An exile, to his home:
But, while I here must linger,

Thus, thus let all I see
Point on, with faithful finger,

To heaven, O Lord, and thee.


[7, 6. Tune, St. James, Page 410.] 1088 The preaching leaves. 1 THE leaves, around me falling,

Are preaching of decay, The hollow winds are calling, "Come, pilgrim, come away!”


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