The God of harvest praise;
Hands, hearts, and voices raise
With one accord;
From field to garner throng,
Bearing your sheaves along;
And in your harvest song,
Bless you the Lord
The church fellowship I grew up in held a ‘Harvest Meeting’ every summer. At 2 in the afternoon on a sweltering hot July day, in a non-air-conditioned old white church by the side of the road. I don’t miss melting in the heat, but the praise given to our Creator for the bounty He bestowed was a wonderful thing to grow up around. And I think about those meetings, the songs of harvest, the praise to the Father, every summers end as the fields begin to ripen and turn golden brown.
