Zinzendorff and Other Poems/Harvest Hymn
HARVEST HYMN.
This is the season, God of Grace,
When man's full heart doth turn to Thee,
For now his eye can clearest trace
Thy hand on vale and field and tree.
With hope he casts to earth the grain,
When spring awakes the snow-drop cold,
With joy beholds bright Summer's rain
And genial sun the germ unfold;
Yet fear will oft his breast pervade
Even while he views the fertile soil
Lest storms destroy the tender blade
And crush the promise of his toil:
But when blest Autumn's care displays
His garners with their stores replete,
Then hope is lost in strains of praise,
And fear in gratulations sweet.
Oh, may we ne'er by Famine dread
Be taught these annual gifts to prize,
But be to grateful duty led
By all the bounty of the skies.