Come to God's own tem ple, come, Raise the song of harvest home! A-men. COME, ye thankful people, come, Raise the song of harvest-home! All is safely gathered in, 2 All the world is God's own field, 3 For the Lord our God shall come, 4 Even so, Lord, quickly come Come, with all Thine angels, come, Raise the glorious harvest-home! Henry Alford, 1844 (text of 1867) DIE TUGEND 9. 8. 9. 8. D. Melody in Geistreiches Gesangbuch, Freylinghausen, 1704 $3 4 Now sing we a song for the har vest: Thanks-giving and honor and praise We reap it on mountain and moorland; We glean it from meadow and lea; We garner it in from the cloudland; We bind it in sheaves from the sea. 3 But the song it goes deeper and higher; There are harvests that eye cannot see; They ripen on mountains of duty, Are reaped by the brave and the free. O Thou, who art Lord of the harvest, The Giver who gladdens our days, Our hearts are for ever repeating Thanksgiving and honor and praise. John W. Chadwick, 1871 |