With countless gifts of love, And still is ours to day. Amen. God, our Maker, doth pro - vide For our wants to be sup-plied: Come to God's own temple, come; Raise the song of Harvest Home! Come, with all Thine angels, come, Raise the glorious Harvest Home! A-men. 1. Praise to God, im-mor- tal praise, For the love that crowns our days; 2. All the plenty sum-mer pours; Au-tumn's rich o'er-flowing stores; 4 4 Bounteous Source of every joy, Let Thy praise our tongues employ ; Flocks that whiten all the plain; Yel-low sheaves of ripened grain; All to Thee, O God, we owe, Source whence all our blessings flow. 3 Clouds that drop their fattening dews, All the plenty summer pours, 4 Peace, prosperity, and health, Knowledge with its gladdening streams, |