Holy is the seed-time, when the buried grain
Sinks to sleep in darkness, but to wake again.
Holy is the spring-time, when the living corn
Bursting from its prison rises like the morn.
Holy is the harvest, when each ripened ear
Bends before the blade and crowns the golden year.
Store them in our garners; winnow them with care;
Give to God the glory in our praise and prayer.
Holy seed our Master sows throughout his field;
Be the harvest holy which our hearts shall yield;
Quickened by his Spirit, strengthened by his grace,
Till in risen splendour we behold his face.
Glory to the Father, who has seen our need;
Glory to the Saviour, who has sown the seed;
Glory to the Spirit, giving the increase;
Glory, as it has been, is, and shall not cease!
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