William C. Dix, 1864
To Thee, O Lord, our hearts we raise|
In hymns of adoration,
To Thee bring sacrifice of praise
With shout 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.
2. And now, on this our festal day,
3. We bear the burden of the day,|
And often toil seems dreary;
But labor 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 forevermore,
To garners bright elected.
4. Oh, blessed is that land of God
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