Harvest Home.

Let us sing of the sheaves, when the summer is done, And the garners are stored with the gifts of the sun. Shouting home from the fields like the voice of the sea, Let us join with the reapers in glad jubilee,--

Refrain. Harvest home! (double rep.) Let us chant His praise who has crowned our days With bounty of the harvest home.

Who hath ripened the fruits into golden and red? Who hath grown in the valleys our treasures of bread, That the owner might heap, and the stranger might glean For the days when the cold of the winter is keen? Harvest home! Let us chant, etc.

For the smile of the sunshine, again and again, For the dew on the garden, the showers on the plain, For the year, with its hope and its promise that end, Crowned with plenty and peace, let thanksgiving ascend, Harvest home! Let us chant, etc.

We shall gather a harvest of glory, we know, From the furrows of life where in patience we sow. Buried love in the field of the heart never dies, And its seed scattered here will be sheaves in the skies, Harvest home! Let us chant, etc.

Thanksgiving Hymn. Boston, 1890. Theron Brown.

Tune "To the Work, To the Work." W.H. Doane.