OW thank we all our God
N With heart, and hands, and voices,
Who wondrous things hath done,
In whom his world rejoices;
Who from our mother's arms
Hath blessed us on our way
With countless gifts of love,
And still is ours to-day.
2 O may this bounteous God
Through all our life be near us,
With ever joyful hearts
And blessed peace to cheer us;
And keep us in his grace,
And guide us when perplexed,
And free us from all ills
In this world and the next.
3 All praise and thanks to God,
The Father, now be given,
The Saviour, King, and Lord
Of all in earth and heaven,
The one eternal God,
Whom earth and heaven adore;
For thus it was, is now,
And shall be evermore.
YOME, ye thankful people, come,
Raise the song of Harvest-Home!
All is safely gathered 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!
2 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;
Ripening with a wondrous power,
Till the final Harvest-Hour:
Grant, O Lord of Life, that we
Holy grain and pure may be.
3 For we know that thou wilt come,
And wilt take thy people home;
From thy field wilt purge away
All that doth offend, that day;
And thine angels charge at last
In the fire the tares to cast,
But the fruitful ears to store
In thy garner evermore.
4 Come then, Lord of mercy, come,
Bid us sing thy Harvest-Home!
Let thy saints be gathered 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!
4 O God, our help in ages past,
Our hope for years to come;
Be thou our guard while troubles last,
And our eternal home!
(For Tune, see Hymn 189.)
193 When raging foes appall us, A
STRONGHOLD firm, a trusty shield,
Our God defense and help doth yield
When heavy ills befall us.
With ancient bitter hate,
Such might and cunning great
As guides no earthly arm,
Plotting us deadly harm,
Our foe attempts to enthrall us.
2 What though, in every path of life,
A host of fiends endeavor
To wound us in the deadly strife?
Their arts shall triumph never.
The author of all ill
May threaten as he will;
His throne and empire proud,
But for a time allowed,
A word shall end forever.
3 God's testimony standeth sure;
Whatever man betideth,
He makes the weakest saint endure
Who in his grace confideth.
Though the best gifts of life
Our foes seize in the strife,
We cheerful let them go;
No profit have they so,
For heaven ours' abideth.
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