Heavenly Father listen now,
From Thy throne above,
To the praises sung below
Of thy tender love.

Love for us in all things good
Thou hast shown again:
Fields are bright with golden corn
For the wants of men.

Reapers, with their sickles bright,
In the harvest fields,
Gather in the waving grain
Which the kind earth yields.

We had doubted when the rain
Ceaselessly did fall,
Thinking not that One above
Careth for us all.

O forgive our doubting hearts;
Give us faith to see
Thou art wise, and true, and good;
May we trustful be.

Man may work from morn till night,
Scattering tiny seed;
Yet if Thou withhold Thy hand
Sore would be man's need!

Then let praises fill the earth
And the skies ascend,
Till to catch the reaper's song,
Angels listening bend;

Bend, as if the earth-struck lyre
Found in heaven a chord;
While the myriad hosts proclaim
Praise unto the Lord!