Scripture Verse

Lift up your eyes, and look on the fields; for they are white already to harvest. John 4:35


Edward H. Plumptre (1821–1891)

Words: Ed­ward H. Plump­tre, 1871. Writ­ten for the Ha­rvest Fes­ti­val at Pluck­ley Church, Kent, where Plump­tre was rec­tor.

Music: Ma­du­rai George M. Gar­rett, 1872 (🔊 pdf nwc).

George M. Garrett (1834–1897)


Lo, sum­mer comes again!
And af­ter spring­tide rain,
The quick­en­ing sun­beams
Flood the world with light;
See, high in night’s clear skies,
The joy of long­ing eyes,
The moon of har­vest
Shines se­rene­ly bright.

O Lord of Heav’n and earth,
Who giv­est joy and mirth,
Open our lips to show
Thy won­drous praise;
Our hearts are dull and cold,
We leave Thy love un­told;
O give us strength our
Anthems glad to raise.

Each month we sow or reap,
Each hour we toil or sleep,
Thou giv­est life and joy,
And Thou alone;
O grant to each and all
When death’s dark sha­dows fall,
To stand true work­ers
Round our mas­ter’s throne.

So, life’s long task-work o’er,
Set free for ev­er­more,
We shall sit down at Thy
Great har­vest feast;
Reaper and sow­er met,
The burn­ing heat for­get,
And taste God’s love,
The great­est as the least.

Yea, Lord, Thou too dost claim,
The sow­er’s mys­tic name;
Thou send­est forth Thy reap­ers
To their field;
O be it theirs to bear
The full corn in the ear,
When Thy true seed its
Hundred-fold shall yield.

Root out the ev­il tares,
Earth’s vex­ing griefs and cares,
Bind the hot blasts that wi­ther
And de­stroy;
And when the hour is come
To bring the full sheaves home,
Bid men and an­gels
Share Thy har­vest joy.