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.