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650 GERMANY L. M.

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Wm. Gardiner's "Sacred Melodies," 1815

1 Great God, we sing that might-y hand By which sup- port- ed still

we stand;

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The ope-ning year Thy mercy shows; That mercy crowns it till it close. A - MEN.

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cy and Thy grace, Faith -ful through another year,

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Hear our song of thankful - ness; Father, and Re-deem - er, hear. A-MEN.

(See also HORTON, No. 570)

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654 GOLDEN SHEAVES 8.7.8.7.D.

Sir Arthur Sullivan, 1874

1 To Thee, O Lord, our hearts we raise In hymns of

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The val-leys stand so thick with corn That e- ven they are singing.

A-MEN.

(See also BISHOPGARTH, No. 394)

2 And now, on this our festal day, Thy bounteous hand confessing, Upon Thine altar, Lord, we lay The first-fruits of Thy blessing: By Thee the souls of men are fed With gifts of grace supernal; Thou who dost give us daily bread,

Give us the Bread eternal.

3 We bear the burden of the day,
And often toil seems dreary;
But labor ends with sunset ray,
And rest is for the weary:

May we, the angel-reaping o'er,
Stand at the last accepted,

Christ's golden sheaves for evermore
To garners bright elected.

4 O blessed is that land of God Where saints abide for ever, Where golden fields spread fair and broad,

Where flows the crystal river:
The strains of all its holy throng

With ours to-day are blending;
Thrice blessed is that harvest-song
Which never hath an ending.

William C. Dix, 1864

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Come to God's own tem- ple, come, Raise the song of har-vest-home. A-MEN.

2 All the world is God's own field,
Fruit unto His praise to yield;
Wheat and tares together sown,
Unto joy or sorrow grown:
First the blade, and then the ear,
Then the full corn shall appear:
Lord of harvest, grant that we
Wholesome grain and pure may be.

3 For the Lord our God shall come,
And shall take His harvest home;
From His field shall in that day
All offences purge away;

Give His angels charge at last In the fire the tares to cast, But the fruitful ears to store In His garner evermore.

4 Even so, Lord, quickly come
To Thy final harvest-home;
Gather Thou Thy people in,
Free from sorrow, free from sin;
There for ever purified,
In Thy presence to abide:
Come, with all Thine angels, come,
Raise the glorious harvest-home.

Rev. Henry Alford, 1844 (Text of 1867)

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