u 



Unite in praise to Him, who thus 

 Our cup of plenty fills. 



O, feeble trust ! O, trembling faith ! 



How weak our fears and vain. 

 When lurid suns and cloudless skies, 



No promise gave of rain. 

 Henceforth, in Spring-time, sow the seed, 



A.11 ill forebodings spurn, 

 The promise stands ; we will not doubt 



The harvest's glad return. 



