O’er the field a golden glow
Shines from above and below.
Corn stalk, grain stubble and gardens bare
Give us our fill of what grew there.
Empty wagons have been filled
With the bounty of land earlier tilled.
Crops attended with love and toil
To attain the promise of the soil.
Barns, bins and pantry are packed.
Hay in neat rows has been stacked.
The orchard grows bare
As cellars are stocked and pies prepared.
Autumn’s cool breeze hastens our pace
To gather all given by God’s good grace.
Harvest songs we begin to sing
As we gather together for Thanksgiving.