1 Great God, as seasons disappear,
And changes mark the rolling year,
Thy favor still has crowned our days,
And we would celebrate Thy praise.

2 The harvest song would we repeat,
Thou givest us the finest wheat;
The joys of harvest we have known;
The praise, O Lord is all Thine own.

3 Our tables spread, our garners stored,
O give us hearts to bless Thee, Lord:
Forbid it, Source of light and love,
That hearts and lives should barren prove.

4 Another harvest comes apace:
Ripen our spirits by Thy grace,
That we may calmly meet the blow
The sickle gives to lay us low.

5 That so, when angel reapers come
To gather sheaves to Thy blest home,
Our spirits may be borne on high
To Thy safe garner in the sky.