And the Heavens Shall Yield Their Dew

O THOU, that art the Trust, the Strength,

The Shield of all that live,

Who givest food to man and beast,

Our year’s perfection give—

The crowning cloud of summer rain

Or, from night’s cloudless blue,

The gentle drops whereof Thou saidst,

“And the heavens shall yield their dew!”

On waving grain, on mead and wood,

Let drops of blessing fall,

That all Thy children may have bread,

And healing be for all;

But them that study in Thy Law,

And to Thy Charge are true,

Exalt in splendor like the stars,

Whilst the heavens shall yield their dew!

Make green the pastures of the wild,

Girdle the hills with mirth;

With bright-hued zone of budding flowers

Cincture the gladsome earth.

All they together shall rejoice,

And sing His praise anew,

Whose loving bounty shall not fail;

Whose heavens shall yield their dew!

To clothe with leaf and deck with bud

The naked, tender vine,

That weary souls may be refreshed

With heartening draughts of wine;

And hungry souls be filled with good,

And toil its strength renew

Through luscious feast of ripened fruit—

Bid Thy heavens to yield their dew!

The trees of God are full of sap,

In valley and on hill;

The threshing floors piled high with corn;

Wine, oil, the vats o’erfill;

Where ruin was, a ransomed folk

Upbuilds its homes anew,

And all the land resounds with song—

“And the heavens shall yield their dew!”