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Clouds that drop their fattening dews,
Suns that genial warmth diffuse,
All the plenty summer pours,
Autumn's rich o'erflowing stores:
Lord, for these our souls shall raise
Grateful vows and solemn praise.

Peace, prosperity, and health,
Private bliss and public wealth,
Knowledge, with its gladdening streams,
Pure religion's holier beams:

Lord, for these our souls shall raise
Grateful vows and solemn praise.

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LORD of the harvest! Thee we hail;
Thine ancient promise doth not fail;
The varying seasons haste their round,
With goodness all our years are crown'd;
Our thanks we pay,

This holy day;

O let our hearts in tune be found!

If Spring doth wake the song of mirth,
If Summer warms the fruitful earth,
When Winter sweeps the naked plain,
Or Autumn yields its ripen'd grain,-
Still do we sing

To Thee, our King;

Through all their changes Thou dost reign.

But chiefly when Thy liberal hand
Scatters new plenty o'er the land,
When sounds of music fill the air,
As homeward all their treasures bear;
We too will raise

Our hymn of praise,

For we Thy common bounties share.

Lord of the harvest! all is Thine;
The rains that fall, the suns that shine,
The seed once hidden in the ground,
The skill that makes our fruits abound;
New, every year,

Thy gifts appear;

New praises from our lips shall sound.

143.

HARVEST.

COME, ye thankful people, come,
Raise the song of Harvest-Home!
All is safely gather'd 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.

What is earth but God's own field,
Fruit unto His praise to yield?
Wheat and tares therein are sown,
Unto joy or sorrow grown;

D. 7s.

Ripening with a wondrous power,
Till the final harvest-hour:
Grant, O Lord of life, that we
Holy grain and pure may be.

For we know that Thou wilt come,
And wilt take Thy people home;
From Thy kingdom in that day
All offences purge away;
And Thine Angels charge at last
In the fire the tares to cast,
But the fruitful ears to store
In Thy garner evermore.

Come then, Lord of mercy, come,
Bid us sing Thy Harvest-Home!
Let Thy saints be gather'd in,
Free from sorrow, free from sin;
All upon the golden floor
Praising Thee for evermore:
Come, with thousand Angels, come,
Bid us sing Thy Harvest-Home!

144.

HARVEST.

FOUNTAIN of mercy, God of love,
How rich Thy bounties are;
The rolling seasons, as they move,
Proclaim Thy constant care.

When in the bosom of the earth
The sower hid the grain,

Thy goodness mark'd its secret birth,
And sent the early rain.

C.M.

The spring's sweet influence, Lord, was Thine,
The plants in beauty grew;

Thou gav'st the summer's suns to shine,
The mild refreshing dew.

These various mercies from above
Matured the swelling grain;
A kindly harvest crowns Thy love,
And plenty fills the plain.

We own and bless Thy gracious sway;
Thy hand all nature hails:
Seed-time nor harvest, night nor day,
Summer nor winter fails.

FOUNDATION OF A CHURCH.

145.

THIS stone to Thee in faith we lay,

We build the temple, Lord, to Thee:

Thine eye be open night and day

To guard this house and sanctuary.

Here, when Thy people seek Thy face,
And dying sinners pray to live,
Hear Thou, in heaven, Thy dwelling-place,
And when Thou hearest, O forgive!

Here, when Thy messengers proclaim
The blessed Gospel of Thy Son,
Still by the power of His great Name
Be mighty signs and wonders done.

That glory never hence depart !

Yet choose not, Lord, this house alone;
Thy kingdom come to every heart,
In every bosom fix Thy Throne.

L.M.

Amen.

146.

LORD of Hosts, to Thee we raise
Here a house of prayer and praise;
Thou Thy people's hearts prepare
Here to meet for praise and prayer.

Let the living here be fed

With Thy Word, the heavenly Bread;
Here, in hope of glory bless'd,

May the dead be laid to rest.

Hallelujah!-earth and sky
To the joyful sound reply:
Hallelujah!—hence ascend

Prayer and praise till time shall end.

78.

P.M.

CONSECRATION OF A CHURCH.

147.

LORD of the worlds above,

How pleasant and how fair

The dwellings of Thy love,
Thy earthly temples, are!
To Thine abode

My heart aspires,
With warm desires
To see my God.

Oh! happy souls that pray

Where God appoints to hear!

Oh! happy men that pay

Their constant service there!
They praise Thee still;
And happy they,

That love the way
To Zion's hill.

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