Summer; a harvest hymn.

To praise the ever-bounteous Lord, My soul, wake all thy pow'rs: He calls—and at his voice come forth The smiling harvest hours.

His covenant with earth he keeps; My tongue, his goodness sing; Summer and winter know their time; His harvest crowns the spring.

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

Thus teach me, gracious God, to sow The seeds of righteousness: Smile on my soul, and with thy beams The rip'ning harvest bless.

Then, in the last great harvest, I Shall reap a glorious crop; The harvest shall by far exceed What I have sow'd in hope.