See! the corn again in ear!

How the fields and valleys smile!

Harvest now is drawing near

To repay the farmer’s toil:

Gracious LORD, secure the crop,

Satisfy the poor with food;

In thy mercy is our hope,

We have sinned but thou art good.

While I view the plenteous grain

As it ripens on the stalk;

May I not instruction gain,

Helpful, to my daily walk?

All this plenty of the field

Was produced from foreign seeds;

For the earth itself would yield

Only crops of useless weeds.

Though, when newly sawn, it lay

Hid awhile beneath the ground,

(Some might think it thrown away)

Now a large increase is found:

Though concealed, it was not lost,

Though it died, it lives again;

Eastern storms, and nipping frosts

Have opposed its growth in vain.

Let the praise be all the Lord’s,

As the benefit is ours!

He, in seasons, still affords

Kindly heat, and gentle flow’rs:

By his care the produce thrives

Waving o’er the furrowed lands;

And when harvest–time arrives,

Ready for the reaper stands.

Thus in barren hearts he sows

Precious seeds of heav’nly joy;

Sin, and hell, in vain oppose,

None can grace’s crop destroy:

Threatened oft, yet still it blooms,

After many changes past,

Death, the reaper, when he comes,

Finds it fully ripe at last.