GOD of the Harvest, Thou, whose sun <br />Has ripened all the golden grain, <br />We bless Thee for Thy bounteous store, <br />The cup of Plenty running o'er, <br />The sunshine and the rain! <br /> <br />The year laughs out for very joy, <br />Its silver treble echoing <br />Like a sweet anthem through the woods, <br />Till mellowed by the solitudes <br />It folds its glossy wing. <br /> <br />But our united voices blend <br />From day to day unweariedly; <br />Sure as the sun rolls up the morn, <br />Or twilight from the eve is born, <br />Our song ascends to Thee. <br /> <br />Where'er the various-tinted woods, <br />In all their autumn splendour dressed, <br />Impart their gold and purple dyes <br />To distant hills and farthest skies <br />Along the crimson west: <br /> <br />Across the smooth, extended plain, <br />By rushing stream and broad lagoon, <br />On shady height and sunny dale, <br />Wherever scuds the balmy gale <br />Or gleams the autumn moon: <br /> <br />From inland seas of yellow grain, <br />Where cheerful Labour, heaven-blest, <br />With willing hands and keen-edged scythe, <br />And accents musically blythe, <br />Reveals its lordly crest: <br /> <br />From clover-fields and meadows wide, <br />Where moves the richly-laden wain <br />To barns well-stored with new-made hay, <br />Or where the flail at early day <br />Rolls out the ripened grain: <br /> <br />From meads and pastures on the hills <br />And in the mountain valleys deep, <br />Alive with beeves and sweet-breathed kine <br />Of famous Ayr or Devon's line <br />And shepherd-guarded sheep: <br /> <br />The spirits of the golden year, <br />From crystal caves and grottoes dim, <br />From forest depths and mossy sward, <br />Myriad-tongued, with one accord <br />Peal forth their harvest hymn.<br /><br />Charles Sangster<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/harvest-hymn-5/
