Verse 1

TO Thee, O Lord, our hearts we raise In hymns of adoration, To Thee bring sacrifice of praise With shouts of exultation: Bright robes of gold the fields adorn, The hills with joy are ringing, The valleys stand so thick with corn That even they are singing.

Verse 2

And now, on this our festal day, Thy bounteous hand confessing, Upon Thine altar, Lord, we lay The first-fruits of thy blessing: By thee the souls of men are fed With gifts of grace supernal; Thou who dost give us earthly bread; Give us the bread eternal.

Verse 3

We bear the burden of the day, And often toil seems dreary; But labour ends with sunset ray, And rest comes for the weary: May we, the angel-reaping o’er, Stand at the last accepted, Christ’s golden sheaves for evermore To garners bright elected.

Verse 4

O blessed is that land of God, Where saints abide for ever; Where golden fields spread far and broad, Where flows the crystal river: The strains of all its holy throng With ours to-day are blending; Thrice blessed is that harvest-song Which never hath an ending.

Background: To Thee O Lord Our Hearts We