Alfred H. Miles, ed. The Sacred Poets of the Nineteenth Century. 1907.
By “Lord of the harvest! Thee we hail”John Hampden Gurney (1802–1862)
L
Thine ancient promise doth not fail;
The varying seasons haste their round,
With goodness all our years are crowned:
Our thanks we pay
This holy day;
O let our hearts in tune be found!
It Summer warms the fruitful earth;
When Winter sweeps the naked plain,
Or Autumn yields its ripened grain;
Still do we sing
To Thee, our King;
Through all the changes Thou dost reign.
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.
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!