Scripture Verse

While the earth remaineth, seedtime and harvest, and cold and heat, and summer and winter, and day and night shall not cease. Genesis 8:22


James Montgomery (1771–1854)
National Portrait Gallery


Words: James Mont­go­me­ry, Sep­tem­ber 1840.

Music: Per­kins Ed­ward A. Per­kins, in The Chris­tian Hym­nal (Cin­cin­na­ti, Ohio: Cen­tral Book Con­cern, 1882), page 220 (🔊 pdf nwc).

Alternate Tunes:

If you know where to get a good pho­to of Per­kins (head & shoul­ders, at least 200×300 pix­els),

The or­ig­in­al man­uscript of this hymn is dat­ed 1840. From [John] Hol­land’s Mem­oirs of Mont­gom­ery we find that in Au­gust, 1840, the po­et vis­ited the wi­dow of E. C. Brack­en­bu­ry of Raith­by Hall, Spils­by, Lin­coln­shire, and that on his re­turn jour­ney he wrote this hymn.

On reach­ing Shef­field he gave the stan­zas to Hol­land, say­ing, You may do what you like with them. Hol­land adds, The hint was well un­der­stood, and the au­thor’s towns­men had the plea­sure of read­ing his beau­ti­ful har­vest hymn the next day in the Shef­field Mer­cu­ry (Mem­oirs, vol. v. p. 407).

It was al­so print­ed in the Ev­an­ge­li­cal Ma­ga­zine of Nov. 1840, as A Har­vest Hymn for 1840, and dated The Mount, Shef­field, Sept. 1840. Mont­go­me­ry in­clud­ed it in his Or­ig­in­al Hymns, 1853, No, 279, in 7 stan­zas of 7 lines. It is a spir­it­ed hymn, and in an ab­bre­vi­at­ed form would be of some val­ue.

Julian, p. 1151


The God of har­vest praise,
In loud thanks­giv­ings, raise
Hand, heart, and voice;
The val­leys laugh and sing,
Forests and mount­ains ring,
The plains their trib­ute bring,
The streams re­joice.

Of food for man and beast,
Jehovah spreads a feast,
Above, be­neath:
Ye herds and flocks, draw near,
Fowls, ye are wel­come here;
His good­ness crowns the year
For all that breathe.

Garden and or­chard ground,
Autumnal fruits have crowned,
The vin­tage glows:
Here plen­ty pours her horn;
There the full tide of corn,
Swayed by the breath of morn,
The land o’er­flows.

The wind, the rain, the sun,
Their ge­ni­al work have done;
Wouldst thou be fed?
Man, to thy la­bor bow,
Thrust in the sick­le now,
Reap where thou once didst plough,
God sends thee bread.

Thy few seeds scat­tered wide,
His hand hath mul­ti­plied;
Here thou may’st find
Christ’s mi­ra­cle re­newed;
With self-pro­duc­ing food,
He feeds a mul­ti­tude—
He feeds man­kind.

The God of har­vest praise;
Hands, hearts, and voic­es raise
With one ac­cord;
From field to gar­ner throng,
Bearing your sheaves along;
And in your har­vest song,
Bless ye the Lord.

Yea, bless His ho­ly name,
And your souls’ thanks pro­claim
Through all the earth:
To glo­ry in your lot
Is come­ly—but be not
His be­ne­fits fo­rgot
Amidst your mirth.