COM Harvest Home. DEAN H. ALFORD. OME, ye thankful people, come, Raise a song of harvest home! All is safely gather'd in, Ere the winter-storms begin; God, our Maker, doth provide For our wants to be supplied; Come to God's own temple, come, Raise a song of Harvest-Home! We ourselves are God's own field, For the Lord our God shall come In His garner evermore. Then, thou Church triumphant, come, Raise the song of Harvest-Home! All are safely gather'd in, Free from sorrow, free from sin; Harvest Hymn. There for ever purified, In God's garner to abide. Come, ten thousand Angels, come, Harvest Hymn. MRS ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD. ORAISE to God, immortal praise, PRAIS For the love that crowns our days! Bounteous source of every joy, Let Thy praise our tongues employ. For the blessings of the field, Flocks that whiten all the plain; All that Spring, with bounteous hand, These to Thee, my God, we owe, 339 Yet, should rising whirlwinds tear Should the vine put forth no more, Though the sickening flocks should fall, Should Thine alter'd hand restrain Yet to Thee my soul should raise S Sunny Days in Winter. D. F. MACARTHY. UMMER is a glorious season, Warm, and bright, and pleasant; But the past is not a reason To despise the present! So, while health can climb the mountain, And the log lights up the hall, There are sunny days in winter, after all! Sunny Days in Winter. Spring, no doubt, hath faded from us, Summer, too, with all her promise, Perish'd in our arms: But the memory of the vanish'd Whom our hearts recall, Maketh sunny days in winter, after all! True, there's scarce a flower that bloometh— All the best are dead; But the wall-flower still perfumeth Yonder garden bed; And the arbutus, pearl-blossom'd, Hangs its coral ball: There are sunny days in winter, after all! Summer trees are pretty-very, And I love them well; But this holly's glistening berry None of those excel. While the fir can warm the landscape, And the ivy clothes the wall, There are sunny days in winter, after all! Sunny hours in every season Wait the innocent ; Those who taste with love and reason What their God has sent; Those who neither soar too highly, Nor too lowly fall, Feel the sunny days of winter, after all! Then, although our darling treasures Then, although our once-loved pleasures 341 Though the tomb looms in the distance, There is sunshine, and no winter, after all ! L Lord of the Harvest. REV. JOHN HAMPDEN GURNEY. ORD of the harvest! Thee we hail ; Thine ancient promise doth not fail ; The varying seasons haste their round, With goodness all our years are crown'd: Our thanks we pay This holy day; Oh let our hearts in tune be found! If Spring doth wake the song of mirth, To Thee, our King; Through all their changes Thou dost reign. But chiefly when Thy liberal hand Our hymn of praise, For we Thy common bounties share. Lord of the harvest! all is Thine! The rains that fall, the suns that shine, |