1 To praise thee ever bounteous Lord,
My soul, wake all thy powers:
He calls, and at his voice come forth,
The smiling harvest hours.

2 His cov'nant with the earth he keeps;
My tongue, his goodness sing:
Summer and winter know their time,
His harvest crowns the spring.

3 Well pleas'd the toiling swains behold
The waving yellow crop:
With joy they bear the sheaves away,
And sow again in hope.

4 Thus teach me, gracious GOD, to sow
The seeds of righteousness:
Smile on my soul, and with thy beams
The ripening harvest bless.

5 Then, in the last great harvest, I,
Shall reap a glorious crop:
The harvest shall be far exceed,
What I have sown in hope.