Lord of the harvest, once again,
We thank Thee for the ripened grain;
For crops safe carried, sent to cheer
Thy servants through another year;
For all sweet holy thoughts supplied
By seed time, and by harvest tide.

The bare dead grain, in autumn sown,
Its robe of vernal green it puts on;
Glad from its wintry grave it springs,
Fresh garnished by the King of kings;
So, Lord, to those who sleep in Thee
Shall new and glorious bodies be.

Nor vainly of Thy Word we ask
A lesson from the reaper’s task:
So shall Thine angels issue forth:
The tares be burnt; the just of earth,
To wind and storm exposed no more,
Be gathered to their Father’s store.

Daily, O Lord, our prayers be said,
As Thou hast taught, for daily bread;
But not alone our bodies feed,
Supply our fainting spirits’ need:
O Bread of life, from day to day
Be Thou their Comfort, Food, and Stay.

Weary gleaner, whence comest thou,
With empty hands and clouded brow?
Plodding along thy lonely way,
Tell me, where hast thou gleaned today?
Late I found a barren field,
The harvest past, my search revealed.
Others golden sheaves had gained,
Only stubble for me remained.

Refrain

Forth to the harvest field a-way!
Gather your handfuls while you may;
All day long in the field a-bide,
Gleaning close by the reapers’ side.

Careless gleaner, what hast thou here;
These faded flow’rs and leaflets sere?
Hungry and thirsty, tell me, pray,
Where, oh, where hast thou gleaned today?
All day long in shady bow’rs,
I’ve gaily sought earth’s fairest flow’rs;
Now, alas! too late I see
All I’ve gathered is vanity.

Refrain

Burdened gleaner, thy sheaves I see;
Indeed thou must aweary be!
Singing along the homeward way,
Glad one, where hast thou gleaned today?
Stay me not, till day is done
I’ve gathered handfuls one by one;
Here and there for me they fall,
Close by the reap’rs I’ve found them all.

Refrain

Winter in his heart of gloom
Sings the song of coming bloom:
So over death our souls shall sing
’Lays of the eternal spring.

Then decay shall be no more,
And, the weary seed time o’er,
All the dead in Christ shall rise
For the harvest of the skies.

Wheresoe’er the faithful sleep
Angels shall go forth to reap,
From the dust and ’neath the foam
They shall bring the harvest home.

Bodies of the saints, whose bones
Rest beneath sepulchral stones,
Or are lost on every wind,
All, those messengers shall find.

All from earth to Heaven shall soar
In that flesh which once they wore,
Deathless now and glorified,
Like their Lord and at His side.

This is life’s eternal spring!
This the coming joy we sing!
Look we ever toward this day,
Be it near or far away!

’Mid the sorrow and the strife
’Tis the music of our life,
And the song hath this refrain—
Our Redeemer comes again!