Harvest Hymn

Now autumn strews on every plain,

His mellow fruits and fertile grain;

And laughing plenty, crown'd with sheaves,

With purple grapes, and spreading leaves.

In rich profusion pours around

Her flowing treasures on the ground.

Oh! mark the great, the liberal hand,

That scatters blessings o'er the land;

And to the God of nature raise

The grateful song, the hymn of praise.

The infant corn, in vernal hours,

He nurtured with his gentle showers,

And bade the summer clouds diffuse

Their balmy store of genial dews.

He mark'd the tender stem arise,

Till ripen'd by the glowing skies,

And now, matured, his work behold,

The cheering harvest waves in gold.

To nature's God with joy we raise

The grateful song, the hymn of praise.

The valleys echo to the strains

Of blooming maids and village swains —

To him they tune the lay sincere,

Whose bounty crowns the smiling year.

The sounds from every woodland borne

The sighing winds that bend the corn,

The yellow fields around proclaim

His mighty, everlasting name.

To nature's God united raise

The grateful song, the hymn of praise