Matthew_9-37: Then saith he unto his disciples, The harvest truly is plenteous, but the labourers are few

Lord Of The Harvest, Thee We Hail
Thine Ancient Promise Doth Not Fail;
The Varying Seasons Haste Their Round
With Goodness All Our Years Are Crowned,
Our Thanks We Pay This Holy Day;
Oh Let Our Hearts In Tune Be Found.

If Spring Doth Wake The Song Of Mirth;
If Summer Warms The Fruitful Earth;
When Winter Sweeps The Naked Plain,
Or Autumn Yields Its Ripend Grain,
Still Do We Sing To Thee, Our King;
Through All Their Changes Thou Dost Reign.

But Chiefly, When Thy Liberal Hand
Scatters New Plenty Over The Land,
When Sounds Of Inusic Fill The Air,
As Homeward All Their Treasures Bear;
We Too Will Raise Our Hymn Of Praise,
For We Thy Common Bounties Share.

Lord Of The Harvest, All Is Thine:
The Rains That Fall, The…