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4 Daily, O Lord, our prayers be said,

As thou hast taught, for daily bread :
But not alone our bodies feed;
Supply our fainting spirits' need !
O Bread of Life! from day to day,
Be Thou their Comfort, Food, and Stay! Amen.

7. Anstice.

I

290.
THY goodness, Lord, our souls confess,

Thy goodness we adore ;
A spring, whose blessings never fail,

A sea without a shore.

2 Sun, moon, and stars, Thy love attest

In every cheerful ray ;
Love draws the curtains of the night,

And love restores the day.

3 Thy bounty every season crowns

With all the bliss it yields,
With joyful clusters bend the vines,

With harvests wave the fields.

4. But chiefly Thy compassions, Lord,

Are in the Gospel seen ;
There, like the Sun, Thy mercy shines

Without a cloud between.

5* To Father, Son, and Holy Ghost

The God whom we adore,
Be glory; as it was, is now,
And shall be evermore. Amen.

T. Gibbons.

291.

I

FOUNTAIN of mercy, God of love,

How rich Thy bounties are !
The rolling seasons, as they move

Proclaim Thy constant care.

2

When in the bosom of the earth

The sower hid the grain,
Thy goodness marked its secret birth

And sent the early rain.

3 The Spring's sweet influence was Thine,

The plants in beauty grew;
Thou gav'st refulgent suns to shine,

And mild refreshing dew.

4. These various mercies from above

Matured the swelling grain ;
A yellow harvest crowns Thy love,

And plenty fills the plain.

5 Seed-time and harvest, Lord, alone

Thou dost on man bestow;
Let him not then forget to own

From whom his blessings flow.

6 Fountain of love ! our praise is Thine ·

To Thee our songs we'll raise,
And all created nature join
In sweet harmonious praise. Amen.

A. Flowerdew.

I

292. i COME, ye thankful people, come,

Raise the song of harvest-home!
All is safely gatherod in,
Ere the winter-storms begin :
God, our Maker, doth provide
For our wants to be supplied ;
Come to God's own temple, come :
Raise the song of harvest-home!

2

We ourselves are God's own field,
Fruit unto His praise to yield ;
Wheat and tares together sown,
Unto joy or sorrow grown ;
First the blade, and then the ear,
Then the full corn shall appear.
Grant, О harvest Lord, that we
Wholesome grain and pure may be.

3 For the Lord our God shall come,

And shall take His harvest home;
From His field shall purge away
All that doth offend, that day ;
Give His angels charge at last
In the fire the tares to cast,
But the fruitful ears to store
In His garner evermore.

4 Then, thou Church triumphant, come,

Raise the song of harvest-home !
All are safely gathered in,
Free from sorrow, free from sin;

There, for ever purified,
In God's garner to abide:
Come, ten thousand angels, come;
Raise the glorious harvest-home! Amen.

H. Alford.

I

293
1 PRAISE to God, immortal praise,

For the love that crowns our days !
Bounteous Source of every joy,
Let Thy praise our tongues employ.

2

For the blessings of the field,
For the stores the gardens yield;
For the vine's exalted juice,
For the generous olive's use :

3 Flocks that whiten all the plain ;

Yellow sheaves of ripened grain ;
Clouds that drop their fattening dews
Suns that temperate warmth diffuse :

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4 All that Spring with bounteous hand

Scatters o'er the smiling land ;
All that liberal Autumn pours
From her rich o’erflowing stores :

5 These to Thee, O God, we owe,

Source whence all our blessings How ;
And for these our souls shall raise
Grateful vows and solemn praise. Amen.

A. L. Barbauld.

I

2

294
FOR

Thy mercy and Thy grace,
Faithful through another year,
Hear our song of thankfulness,
Father, and Redeemer, hear !
In our weakness and distress,
Rock of strength! be Thou our stay!
In the pathless wilderness

Be our true and living way!
3 Who of us death's awful road

In the coming year shall tread?
With Thy rod and staff, O God,

Comfort Thou his dying head ! 4. Keep us faithful, keep us pure,

Keep us evermore Thine own!
Help, O help us to endure !

Fit us for the promised crown! 5 So within Thy palace gate

We shall praise, on golden strings,
Thee, the only Potentate,
Lord of lords, and King of kings ! Amen.

H. Dorunton.

295.

Psalm XC.
O

GOD, our help in ages past,
Our hope for years to come,
Our shelter from the stormy blast,

And our eternal home :

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