Ballads for the Times (Now first collected,) Geraldine, A Modern Pyramid, Bartenus, A Thousand Lines, and other poems. By Martin F. Tupper. A new Edition, enlarged and revised |
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A Hymn and a Chant
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 | Ballads for the Times |  |
91
A Hymn and a Chant
For the Harvest-home of 1847.
A HYMN.
O nation, Christian nation,
Lift high the hymn of praise!
The God of our salvation
Is love in all His ways;
He blesseth us, and feedeth
Every creature of His hand,
To succour him that needeth
And to gladden all the land!
Lift high the hymn of praise!
The God of our salvation
Is love in all His ways;
He blesseth us, and feedeth
Every creature of His hand,
To succour him that needeth
And to gladden all the land!
Rejoice, ye happy people,
And peal the changing chime
From every belfried steeple
In symphony sublime;
Let cottage and let palace
Be thankful and rejoice,
And woods, and hills, and valleys,
Re-echo the glad voice!
And peal the changing chime
From every belfried steeple
In symphony sublime;
Let cottage and let palace
Be thankful and rejoice,
And woods, and hills, and valleys,
Re-echo the glad voice!
From glen, and plain, and city
Let gracious incense rise,
The Lord of life in pity
Hath heard His creatures' cries;
And where in fierce oppressing
Stalk'd fever, fear, and dearth,
He pours a triple blessing
To fill and fatten earth!
Let gracious incense rise,
The Lord of life in pity
Hath heard His creatures' cries;
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Stalk'd fever, fear, and dearth,
He pours a triple blessing
To fill and fatten earth!
Gaze round in deep emotion:
The rich and ripen'd grain
Is like a golden ocean
Becalm'd upon the plain;
And we, who late were weepers
Lest judgment should destroy,
Now sing because the reapers
Are come again with joy!
The rich and ripen'd grain
Is like a golden ocean
Becalm'd upon the plain;
And we, who late were weepers
Lest judgment should destroy,
Now sing because the reapers
Are come again with joy!
O praise the hand that giveth
—And giveth evermore,—
To every soul that liveth
Abundance flowing o'er!
For every soul He filleth
With manna from above,
And over all distilleth
The unction of His love.
—And giveth evermore,—
To every soul that liveth
Abundance flowing o'er!
For every soul He filleth
With manna from above,
And over all distilleth
The unction of His love.
Then gather, Christians, gather
To praise with heart and voice
The good Almighty Father,
Who biddeth you rejoice:
For He hath turn'd the sadness
Of His children into mirth,
And we will sing with gladness
The harvest-home of earth!
To praise with heart and voice
The good Almighty Father,
Who biddeth you rejoice:
For He hath turn'd the sadness
Of His children into mirth,
And we will sing with gladness
The harvest-home of earth!
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A CHANT.
O bless the God of harvest, praise Him through the land,
Thank Him for His precious gifts, His help, and liberal love:
Praise Him for the fields, that have render'd up their riches,
And, drest in sunny stubbles, take their sabbath after toil;
Praise Him for the close-shorn plains, and uplands lying bare,
And meadows, where the sweet-breath'd hay was stack'd in early summer;
Praise Him for the wheat-sheaves, gather'd safely into barn,
And scattering now their golden drops beneath the sounding flail;
Praise Him for the barley-mow, a little hill of sweetness,
Praise Him for the clustering hop, to add its fragrant bitter;
Praise Him for the wholesome root, that fatten'd in the furrow,
Praise Him for the mellow fruits, that bend the groaning bough:
For blessings on thy basket, and for blessings on thy store,
For skill and labour prosper'd well, by gracious suns and showers,
For mercies on the home, and for comforts on the hearth,
O happy heart of this broad land, praise the God of harvest!
Thank Him for His precious gifts, His help, and liberal love:
Praise Him for the fields, that have render'd up their riches,
And, drest in sunny stubbles, take their sabbath after toil;
Praise Him for the close-shorn plains, and uplands lying bare,
And meadows, where the sweet-breath'd hay was stack'd in early summer;
Praise Him for the wheat-sheaves, gather'd safely into barn,
And scattering now their golden drops beneath the sounding flail;
Praise Him for the barley-mow, a little hill of sweetness,
Praise Him for the clustering hop, to add its fragrant bitter;
Praise Him for the wholesome root, that fatten'd in the furrow,
Praise Him for the mellow fruits, that bend the groaning bough:
For blessings on thy basket, and for blessings on thy store,
For skill and labour prosper'd well, by gracious suns and showers,
For mercies on the home, and for comforts on the hearth,
O happy heart of this broad land, praise the God of harvest!
All ye that have no tongue to praise, we will praise Him for you,
And offer on our kindling souls the tribute of your thanks:
Trees, and shrubs, and the multitude of herbs, gladdening the eyes with verdure,
For all your leaves and flowers and fruits, we praise the God of harvest!
Birds, and beetles in the dust, and insects flitting on the air,
And ye that swim the waters in your scaly coats of mail,
And steers, resting after labour, and timorous flocks afold,
And generous horses, yoked in teams to draw the creaking wains,
For all your lives, and every pleasure solacing that lot,
Your sleep, and food, and animal peace, we praise the God of harvest!
And ye, O some who never pray'd, and therefore cannot praise;
Poor darkling sons of care and toil and unillumined night,
Who rose betimes, but did not ask a blessing on your work,
Who lay down late, but render'd no thank-offering for that blessing
Which all unsought He sent, and all unknown ye gather'd,—
Alas, for you and in your stead, we praise the God of harvest!
And offer on our kindling souls the tribute of your thanks:
Trees, and shrubs, and the multitude of herbs, gladdening the eyes with verdure,
For all your leaves and flowers and fruits, we praise the God of harvest!
Birds, and beetles in the dust, and insects flitting on the air,
And ye that swim the waters in your scaly coats of mail,
And steers, resting after labour, and timorous flocks afold,
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For all your lives, and every pleasure solacing that lot,
Your sleep, and food, and animal peace, we praise the God of harvest!
And ye, O some who never pray'd, and therefore cannot praise;
Poor darkling sons of care and toil and unillumined night,
Who rose betimes, but did not ask a blessing on your work,
Who lay down late, but render'd no thank-offering for that blessing
Which all unsought He sent, and all unknown ye gather'd,—
Alas, for you and in your stead, we praise the God of harvest!
O ye famine-stricken glens, whose children shriek'd for bread,
And noisome alleys of the town, where fever fed on hunger,—
O ye children of despair, bitterly bewailing Erin,
Come and join my cheerful praise, for God hath answer'd prayer:
Praise Him for the better hopes, and signs of better times,
Unity, gratitude, contentment; industry, peace, and plenty;
Bless Him that His chastening rod is now the sceptre of forgiveness,
And in your joy remember well to praise the God of harvest!
And noisome alleys of the town, where fever fed on hunger,—
O ye children of despair, bitterly bewailing Erin,
Come and join my cheerful praise, for God hath answer'd prayer:
Praise Him for the better hopes, and signs of better times,
Unity, gratitude, contentment; industry, peace, and plenty;
Bless Him that His chastening rod is now the sceptre of forgiveness,
And in your joy remember well to praise the God of harvest!
Come, come along with me, and swell this grateful song,
Ye nobler hearts, old England's own, her children of the soil:
All ye that sow'd the seed in faith, with those who reap'd in joy,
And he that drove the plough afield, with all the scatter'd gleaners,
And maids who milk the lowing kine, and boys that tend the sheep,
And men that load the sluggish wain or neatly thatch the rick,—
Shout and sing for happiness of heart, nor stint your thrilling cheers,
But make the merry farmer's hall resound with glad rejoicings,
And let him spread the hearty feast for joy at harvest-home,
And join this cheerful song of praise,—to bless the God of harvest!
Ye nobler hearts, old England's own, her children of the soil:
All ye that sow'd the seed in faith, with those who reap'd in joy,
And he that drove the plough afield, with all the scatter'd gleaners,
And maids who milk the lowing kine, and boys that tend the sheep,
And men that load the sluggish wain or neatly thatch the rick,—
Shout and sing for happiness of heart, nor stint your thrilling cheers,
But make the merry farmer's hall resound with glad rejoicings,
And let him spread the hearty feast for joy at harvest-home,
And join this cheerful song of praise,—to bless the God of harvest!
| Ballads for the Times | |