God the Father! Whose creation Gives to flowers and fruits their birth, Thou, Whose yearly operation Brings the hour of harvest mirth, Here to Thee we make oblation Of the August-gold of earth. God the Word! the sun, maturing With his bless??d ray the corn, Spake of Thee, O Sun enduring, Thee, O everlasting Morn! Thee in Whom our woes find curing Thee that liftest up our horn. God the Holy Ghost! the showers That have fattened out the grain, Types of Thy celestial powers, Symbols of baptismal rain, Shadowed out the grace that dowers All the faithful of Thy train. When the harvest of each nation Severs righteousness from sin, And archangel proclamation Bids to put the sickle in, And each age and generation Sink to woe, or glory win; Grant that we, or young, or hoary, Lengthened be our span or brief, Whatsoe???er the life long story Of our joy or of our grief, May be garnered up in glory As Thine own elected sheaf. Laud to Him to Whom supernal Thrones and virtues bend the knee; Laud to Him from Whom infernal Powers and dominations flee; Laud to Him the co-eternal Paraclete, forever be.
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