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The Book of Praise.
CCLXXIII.
Lord of the harvest! once again We thank Thee for the ripen'd grain ; For crops safe carried, sent to cheer Thy servants through another year ; For all sweet holy thoughts supplied By seed-time, and by harvest-tide.
The bare dead grain, in autumn sown, Its robe of vernal green puts on ; Glad from its wintry grave it springs, Fresh garnish'd by the King of kings : So, Lord, to those who sleep in Thee Shall new and glorious bodies be.
Nor vainly of Thy Word we ask A lesson from the reaper's task ; So shall Thine angels issue forth; The tares be burnt; the just of earth, Playthings of sun and storm no more, Be gather'd to their Father's store.
Daily, O Lord, our prayers be said, As Thou hast taught, for daily bread ; But not alone our bodies feed ; Supply our fainting spirits' need ! O Bread of Life ! from day to day, Be Thou their Comfort, Food, and Stay !
Joseph Anstice. [1836.]
CCLXXIV.
Come, ye thankful people, come, Raise the song of Harvest-Home J All is safely gather'd in, Ere the winter-storms begin ; |
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