We come, our hearts with gladness glowing,

Thee, Lord of Harvest, to adore,

For garners fill’d to overflowing

With treasured heaps and plenteous store;

To thank Thee that thy Father-hand

Has blest anew our happy land.

Our praise for this abundant blessing

With favour, gracious Father, hear,

More deeply on our minds impressing

Thy mercies each successive year,

That so our thankful praise may be

A life devoted all to Thee.

Since Thou, on us compassion taking,

With daily bread our wants dost feed,

So, pity in our breasts awaking,

Make us to feel for others’ need:

Thou rich and poor alike dost love,

Then let them both thy bounty prove.

Thy heavenly dews our seed have nourish’d,

And plenteous fruit our harvests yield;

But have the fruits of faith too flourish’d

Within thy Son’s own harvest-field?

And when his eye o’erlooks the ground,

Shall thriving plants therein be found?

Defeat our foe, his craft confounding,

When tares within thy field he’d sow;

And let thy word’s good fruit abounding,

To thy great fame and glory grow,

That all full sheaves may carry home,

When that great Harvest-day shall come.