A Harvest Hymn
WRITTEN FOR THE AMESBURY AND SALISBURY AGRICULTURAL
EXHIBITION, SEPT. 17, 1860 .
O HAPPY day returned once more
With golden plenty still replete;
As though she never gave before
Earth pours her treasures at our feet.
And ne'er did ruddier fruit fulfil
The rosy prophecies of May;
Ne'er did the rugged lands we till
Yield sweeter corn or flowers more gay.
Not one among the many here
Who prune the tree or plough the soil,
But has some share in Nature's cheer,
Some liberal recompense for toil.
Yet none his choicest stores may boast
Of flowers or fruit or garnered grain,
For labor of his hands were lost
Unblest by heaven's refreshing rain.
Oh thanks to God whose love abides
And scatters bounties everywhere;
Who in the heart of Nature hides
The germ of His unfailing care!
More rich than Autumn's robe of leaves
Should be the garments of our praise,
And ampler than her ample sheaves
The charities that crown our days.
More fragrant than the meadow's breath
The incense of our souls should rise
From life's rude altars wreathed by Faith
With borrowed bloom from Paradise.
Oh, clearly then could we behold
In flowers that fade and fruits that fall
Sweet hints which earthly gifts infold
Of treasure stored in Heaven for all.
EXHIBITION, SEPT. 17, 1860 .
O HAPPY day returned once more
With golden plenty still replete;
As though she never gave before
Earth pours her treasures at our feet.
And ne'er did ruddier fruit fulfil
The rosy prophecies of May;
Ne'er did the rugged lands we till
Yield sweeter corn or flowers more gay.
Not one among the many here
Who prune the tree or plough the soil,
But has some share in Nature's cheer,
Some liberal recompense for toil.
Yet none his choicest stores may boast
Of flowers or fruit or garnered grain,
For labor of his hands were lost
Unblest by heaven's refreshing rain.
Oh thanks to God whose love abides
And scatters bounties everywhere;
Who in the heart of Nature hides
The germ of His unfailing care!
More rich than Autumn's robe of leaves
Should be the garments of our praise,
And ampler than her ample sheaves
The charities that crown our days.
More fragrant than the meadow's breath
The incense of our souls should rise
From life's rude altars wreathed by Faith
With borrowed bloom from Paradise.
Oh, clearly then could we behold
In flowers that fade and fruits that fall
Sweet hints which earthly gifts infold
Of treasure stored in Heaven for all.
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