The composer"s name is lost, the tune being left nameless when printed.
The impression is that it was a secular melody. A very suitable tune for the hymn is Geo. J. Webb"s "Millennial Dawn" ("the Morning Light is breaking.")
_THANKSGIVING._
"DIE FELDER WIR PFLuGEN UND STREUEN."
We plow the fields and scatter The good seed on the land, But it is fed and watered By G.o.d"s Almighty hand, He sends the snow in winter, The warmth to swell the grain, The breezes, and the sunshine And soft, refreshing rain, All, all good gifts around us Are sent from heaven above Then thank the Lord, O thank the Lord For all His love!
Matthias Claudius, who wrote the German original of this little poem, was a native of Reinfeld, Holstein, born 1770 and died 1815. He wrote lyrics, humorous, pathetic and religious, some of which are still current in Germany.
The translator of the verses is Miss Jane Montgomery Campbell, whose ident.i.ty has not been traced. Hers is evidently one of the retiring names brought to light by one unpretending achievement. English readers owe to her the above modest and devout hymn, which was first published here in Rev. C.S. Bere"s _Garland of Songs with Tunes_, 1861.
Little is known of Arthur Cottman, composer to Miss Campbell"s words. He was born in 1842, and died in 1879.
[Ill.u.s.tration: Lowell Mason]
"WITH SONGS AND HONORS SOUNDING LOUD."
Stanzas of this enduring hymn of Watts" have been as often recited as sung.
He sends His showers of blessing down To cheer the plains below; He makes the gra.s.s the mountains crown, And corn in valleys grow.
_THE TUNE_,
One of the chorals--if not the best--to claim partnership with this sacred cla.s.sic, is John Cole"s "Geneva," distinguished among the few fugue tunes which the singing world refuses to dismiss. There is a growing grandeur in the opening solo and its following duet as they climb the first tetra-chord, when the full harmony suddenly reveals the majesty of the music. The little parenthetic duo at the eighth bar breaks the roll of the song for one breath, and the concord of voices closes in again like a diapason. One thinks of a bird-note making a waterfall listen.
"HARVEST HOME."
Let us sing of the sheaves, when the summer is done, And the garners are stored with the gifts of the sun.
Shouting home from the fields like the voice of the sea, Let us join with the reapers in glad jubilee,--
_Refrain._ Harvest home! (_double rep._) Let us chant His praise who has crowned our days With bounty of the harvest home.
Who hath ripened the fruits into golden and red?
Who hath grown in the valleys our treasures of bread, That the owner might heap, and the stranger might glean For the days when the cold of the winter is keen?
Harvest home!
Let us chant, etc.
For the smile of the sunshine, again and again, For the dew on the garden, the showers on the plain, For the year, with its hope and its promise that end, Crowned with plenty and peace, let thanksgiving ascend, Harvest home!
Let us chant, etc.
We shall gather a harvest of glory, we know, From the furrows of life where in patience we sow.
Buried love in the field of the heart never dies, And its seed scattered here will be sheaves in the skies, Harvest home!
Let us chant, etc.
Thanksgiving Hymn. Boston, 1890. Theron Brown.
Tune "To the Work, To the Work." W.H. Doane.
"THE G.o.d OF HARVEST PRAISE."
Written by James Montgomery in 1840, and published in the _Evangelical Magazine_ as the Harvest Hymn for that year.
The G.o.d of harvest praise; In loud thanksgiving raise Heart, hand and voice.
The valleys smile and sing, Forests and mountains sing, The plains their tribute bring, The streams rejoice.
The G.o.d of harvest praise; Hearts, hands and voices raise With sweet accord; From field to garner throng, Bearing your sheaves along, And in your harvest song Bless ye the Lord.
Tune, "Dort"--Lowell Mason.
_MORNING._
"STILL, STILL WITH THEE."
These stanzas of Mrs. Harriet Beecher Stowe, with their poetic beauty and grateful religious spirit, have furnished an orison worthy of a place in all the hymn books. In feeling and in faith the hymn is a matin song for the world, supplying words and thoughts to any and every heart that worships.
Still, still with Thee, when purple morning breaketh, When the bird waketh and the shadows flee; Fairer than morning, lovelier than daylight, Dawns the sweet consciousness, I am with Thee.
Alone with Thee, amid the mystic shadows The solemn hush of nature newly born; Alone with Thee, in breathless adoration, In the calm dew and freshness of the morn.
When sinks the soul, subdued by toil, to slumber, Its closing eyes look up to Thee in prayer, Sweet the repose beneath Thy wings o"ershadowing, But sweeter still to wake and find Thee there.
_THE TUNES._
Barnby"s "Windsor," and "Stowe" by Charles H. Morse (1893)--both written to the words.
Mendelssohn"s "Consolation" is a cla.s.sic interpretation of the hymn, and finely impressive when skillfully sung, but simpler--and sweeter to the popular ear--is Mason"s "Henley," written to Mrs. Eslings"--
"Come unto me when shadows darkly gather."
_EVENING HYMNS._