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John Newton - Harvest
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See! the corn again in ear!
How the fields and valleys smile!
Harvest now is drawing near
To repay the farmer`s toil:
Gracious Lord, secure the crop,
Satisfy the poor with food;
In thy mercy is our hope,
We have sinned but thou art good. 

While I view the plenteous grain
As it ripens on the stalk;
May I not instruction gain,
Helpful, to my daily walk?
All this plenty of the field
Was produced from foreign seeds;
For the earth itself would yield
Only crops of useless weeds. 

Though, when newly sawn, it lay
Hid awhile beneath the ground,
Some might think it thrown away
Now a large increase is found:
Though concealed, it was not lost,
Though it died, it lives again;
Eastern storms, and nipping frosts
Have opposed its growth in vain. 

Let the praise be all the Lord`s,
As the benefit is ours!
He, in seasons, still affords
Kindly heat, and gentle flow`rs:
By his care the produce thrives
Waving o`er the furrowed lands;
And when harvest-time arrives,
Ready for the reaper stands. 
 
Thus in barren hearts he sows
Precious seeds of heav`nly joy;
Sin, and hell, in vain oppose,
None can grace`s crop destroy:
Threatened oft, yet still it blooms,
After many changes past,
Death, the reaper, when he comes,
Finds it fully ripe at last.
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