528 To Thee, O Lord, our hearts we raise

1 To Thee, O Lord, our hearts we raise In hymns of adoration, To Thee bring sacrifice of praise With shouts 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, Thy bounteous hand confessing, Upon Thine altar, Lord, we lay The first-fruits of Thy blessing: By Thee the souls of men are fed With gifts of grace supernal; Thou who dost give us earthly bread, Give us the bread eternal. 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 for evermore To garners bright elected. 4 O blessed is that land of God, Where saints abide forever; Where golden fields spread far and broad, Where flows the crystal river; The strains of all its holy throng With ours to-day are blending; Thrice blessed is that harvest-song Which never hath an ending.