POETRY.
A HYMN FOR HARVEST.
Now to Thee, gracious Lord of the Seasons, be honour and glory and praise, That again in the joy of the harvest our jubilant anthem we raise.
Though many the fears that beset us, though faith waxes feeble and cold, Thy bow, with its promise unbroken, glitters still as it glittered of old.
Though weary we grow in our watching the weeks of the drought as they pass, When the earth is as iron beneath us, and the heaven above us as brass, Yet the showers come back in their season ; once more in the land there is seen The brook brimming over with crystal, the grass as the emerald green.
Though troubled the spirit within us, when the mist upon valley and plain Lies thick, and the clouds in their armies return again after the rain ; Yet the sun cometh forth as a giant, and after the tempest the morn Is cloudless and fair, and the colour grows golden and rich on the corn. For seed-time and harvest we thank Thee; our fears as the shadows have fled ; Thou halt given his seed to the sower, Thou bast given the eater his bread, [The Author would be glad to have this set to music.]
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