The season of harvest suggestive.

GREAT God, as seasons disappear, And changes mark the rolling year: As time with rapid pinions flies, May every season make us wise.

Long has thy favor crown'd our days, And summer shed again its rays; No deadly cloud our sky has vail'd; No blasting winds our path assail'd.

Our harvest months have o'er us roll'd, And fill'd our fields with waving gold; Our tables spread, our garners stor'd, Where are our hearts to praise the Lord?

The solemn harvest comes apace— The closing day of life and grace: Time of decision, awful hour! Around it let no tempests low'r!

Prepare us, Lord, by grace divine, Like stars in heav'n to rise and shine; Then shall our happy souls above Reap the full harvest of thy love!