To thee, O Lord, our hearts we raise
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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. 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. We bear the burden of the day, and often toil seems dreary; but labour ends with sunset ray, and rest comes for the weary. May we, the angel reaping over, stand at the last accepted, Christ's golden sheaves, for evermore to garners bright elected. O blessèd is that land of God where saints abide forever, where golden fields spread fair and broad, where flows the crystal river; the strains of all its holy throng with ours today are blending; thrice blessèd is that harvest song which never hath an ending. |
Tollentes corda canimus te, Deus, adorantes iustisque te clamoribus laudamus exultantes: est agro vestis aurea laetusque in colle sonus, dum celebrant declivia suum spicarum onus. Te coram hoc festo die meminimus datorum araeque reddimus tuae primitias tuorum: humana corda gratia tu sustines superna: terrestria ut nutrimina sic praebeas aeterna. Labor diurnus opprimit pigetque nos sudandi; cum nocte sed quies venit modusque laborandi: sic Christi seges angelis metentibus ligemur splendentibusque in horreis perpetuo locemur. Benedicatur patriae sanctorum permanenti cum latis agris aureae et fluvio nitenti: caeeleste carmen est dies quo nostro misceatur; o ter beata quae seges* aeterna celebratur! * o ter beati quis seges |