To praise the ev­er boun­te­ous Lord,
My soul, wake all thy pow­ers;
He calls, and at His voice come forth
The smil­ing har­vest hours.

His co­ve­nant with the earth He keeps;
My tongue His good­ness sing:
Summer and win­ter know their time,
His har­vest crowns the spring.

Well pleased the toil­ing swains be­hold
The wav­ing yel­low crop:
With joy they bear the sheaves away,
And sow again in hope.

Thus teach me, gra­cious God, to sow
The seeds of right­eous­ness:
Smile on my soul, and with Thy beams
The rip­en­ing har­vest bless.

Then in the last great har­vest I
Shall reap a glo­ri­ous crop:
The har­vest shall by far ex­ceed
What I have sowed in hope.