Harvest

HARVEST - page 2

Now join we, to praise the Creator,
our voices in worship and song;
we stand to recall with thanksgiving
that to God all seasons belong:

We thank you, O Source of all goodness,
for the joy and abundance of crops,
for food that is stored in our larders,
for all we can buy in the shops.

But also of need and starvation
we sing with concern and despair,
of skills that are used for destruction,
of land that is burnt and laid bare.

We cry for the plight of the hungry
while harvests are left on the field,
for orchards neglected and wasting,
for produce from markets withheld.

The song grows in depth and in wideness;
the earth and its people are one.
There can be no thanks without giving,
no words without deeds that are done.

Then teach us, O God of the harvest,
to be humble in all that we claim,
to share what we have with the nations,
to care for the world in your name.

Fred Kaan (born 1929)
© 1968 Stainer & Bell Ltd
9.8.9.8. (Anapaestic)

Now that harvest crops are gathered,
Now that autumn days come round,
Gone the martins and the swallows,
Mist on hills and hollow ground.

There's a stillness close to sadness
As the green leaves turn to gold:
Threat of frost and stormy weather,
Autumn's chill and winter's cold.

What harsh winters we remember,
Complicating every task!
Muddy lanes and flooded meadows
Sheep in snowdrifts, lambs at risk.

Yet the farmer, at his ploughing,
Takes the seasons as they come;
Undeterred by winter's rigour,
Thinks of next year's harvest home.

Lord of every time and season,
In our over-anxious moods
Tell us, as we face tomorrow
There's no day that is not God's.


Fred Pratt Green 1903–2000
© 1989 Stainer & Bell Ltd
8.7.8.7.

O gentle Sower, cast your holy grain
And till the fallow field that is my soul;
Let me be found with ears to hear your Word
That I who know in part may seek the whole.

Am I the path which, hard as concrete, lies
Inert and dry within your harvest-ground,
Where ruthless predators may snatch away
The straying seed wherever it is found?

Am I the pasture, green and smiling now,
Well-watered and with every prospect bright,
But, overlaid on stone, would wilt and die
With shrivelled root if struck by drought or blight?

Am I the stony clay, where weed and thorn
And thistle choke the newly-planted seed;
Do pleasures of the world entice and thrill;
Does wealth corrupt with jealousy and greed?

My God, I would by far prefer to be
The fertile loam that bears an hundred-fold,
And in obedience take to heart your Word,
Great gift more precious than the finest gold.


Judy Davies (born 1935)
© 1990 Stainer & Bell Ltd
10.10.10.10. Iambic

Our God, we seek your face,
on you we must rely;
your never-measured grace
is ever standing by.

Give us your bread to eat,
sustain and make us whole
and with your wine complete
our joy of mind and soul.

To deep compassion move
the hearts of young and old;
grant on the seed of love
a harvest hundredfold. *

New visions bring to birth,
compel us to be one;
stir up your Church on earth
for people to be won.

According to your will,
in Jesus' name we pray:
our deepest need fulfil,
our need of you today.

* cf Luke 8: 8

Fred Kaan (born 1929)
© 1968 Stainer & Bell Ltd
6.6.6.6.

Praise God for the harvest of orchard and field,
praise God for the people who gather their yield,
the long hours of labour, the skills of a team,
the patience of science, the power of machine.

Praise God for the harvest that comes from afar,
from market and harbour, the sea and the shore:
foods packed and transported, and gathered and grown
by God-given neighbours, unseen and unknown.

Praise God for the harvest that's quarried and mined,
then sifted, and smelted, or shaped and refined:
for oil and for iron, for copper and coal,
praise God, who in love has provided them all.

Praise God for the harvest of science and skill,
the urge to discover, create and fulfil:
for dreams and inventions that promise to gain
a future more hopeful, a world more humane.

Praise God for the harvest of mercy and love
from leaders and peoples who struggle and serve
for patience and kindness, that all may be led
to freedom and justice, and all may be fed.

Brian Wren (born 1936)
© 1974, 1996 Stainer & Bell Ltd
11 11.11 11.

The combines have lumber'd through fields full of wheat,
The grain is all sealed in its sacks,
The farmer has toiled for our bread and our meat,
The pitch-forks are back on their racks.

The seed of the harvest by corn-drills was sown,
Trickling as softly as silk;
Through all the long summer the cows have come home
To give up their burden of milk.

The hens have been laying, the cattle have calved,
Fine fish have been caught in the sea,
The sheep have been shorn and we have not starved,
Red apples still hang on the tree.

So let us be thankful for bed and for board,
For tractor and combine and drill,
For fisherman, farmer and Jesus our Lord
Who hung on a tree on a hill,
For fisherman, farmer and Jesus our Lord,
Who hung on a tree on a hill.


David Marsh (died 198?)
© 1965 Stainer & Bell Ltd

The harvest of the city
We lift to you today,
Who call us all to celebrate,
To labour and to play.
You only are the maker
In all we make and do,
You share with us the labour,
You share the music too.
Holy is the maker
Who lives in all we do
And holy is the liberty
To be a maker too.

We share with you the river,
We share with you the road,
The driving of the diesel and
The lifting of the load.
Where share with you the timber,
We share with you the steel,
The lifting of the hammer,
The turning of the wheel.
Chorus

In hospital and harbour
We meet you night and day.
We share with you the writing and
The acting of a play.
We find you in the teaching
And in the learning too.
In all that we are making
You are the maker too.
Chorus

The harvest of the city
We bring you to today,
And by the liberty you give
We celebrate and play.
You only are the maker,
You live in all we do,
We share with you the labour,
We share the music too.
Chorus


Sydney Carter (born 1915)
© 1974, 1985 Stainer & Bell Ltd.
7.6.7.6.D. Iambic and Refrain 6.6.8.4.

Under the ground is the bubbling bright water;
Under the waves there are fish in the sea;
Power in the wind and the tide and the sunshine.
Who will go catch them and bring them to me?

Homeless and lost in the streets of Calcutta;
Scratching the ground on the plains of Brazil;
Someone is waiting with something to offer.
Only his hunger is sapping his will.
Chorus

Waiting untapped are the bounties of nature,
Rich beyond thought the returns she can bring;
Give her a grain and she'll bring you a barn-full,
Give her a man and she'll show you a king.
Chorus

Bursting with life is the world we were given;
Bursting with hope are the children of men.
Oh, for the day when the dams are all broken,
Oh, for the new opportunities then!
Chorus


Michael Hewlett (1916–2000)
© 1977 Stainer & Bell Ltd
11 10 11 10 Dactylic & Refrain

Water in the snow:
the mountains sparkle white;
the muffled trees bow low,
burdened with light.

Water in the rain:
the wheat is growing tall;
the fields are packed with grain—
plenty for all.

Water in the ground:
where earth is cracked and dry,
down deep the well has found
ample supply.

Water from the stream:
the tap runs fresh and clear;
the clothes, now washed and clean,
blow in the air.

Water fills the dam:
it tumbles with a roar,
and makes the turbines hum,
throbbing with power.

Water in the sea:
the trawling nets unfurl;
the oyster in the deep
treasures its pearl.

Water gives us life,
and beauty, power and food—
Praise God, whose life and love
make all things good.


Brian Wren (born 1936)
© 1972 Stainer & Bell Ltd
5.6.6.4.

When loaves are on the table,
Who sees a field of wheat?
Or thinks about the farmer
Who grew the food we eat?

Perhaps in bitter weather
He had to plough and sow,
As gulls behind the tractor
Reminded him of snow.

And while the seeds were hidden
Beneath the frozen earth,
He had to trust to nature
To mother them at birth.

He watched for those diseases
That harm the tender grain,
And feared to see his acres
Lie rotting in the rain.

But there's a joy of harvest
That everyone may know:
The happiness of reaping
The best that we can grow.

When food is on the table.
And there is bread to eat,
Thank God for every farmer
Who has a field of wheat.


Fred Pratt Green 1903–2000
© 1976 Stainer & Bell Ltd
7.6.7.6.

World-terrors pall and pass,
Rise and collapse again.
Yet still we tread the growing grass,
Still reap the ripened grain.

The field's imperial show
Blazes with red and blue.
The Lord who robes the flowers so
Will care yet more for you.

The nature of the earth
Gives to the crops increase.
God's Spirit in us will give birth
To fruits of joy and peace.

The rich and fruitful sheaves
Spring from the buried corn.
We too must lose our former lives
If we would be reborn.

From underground the shoot
Reaches towards the light.
So faith can sense the future fruit
When all around is night.

John Ferguson (1921-1989)
© 1982 Stainer & Bell Ltd

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