It's out of season, I know; but I've pushed out a hymn for each of the other seasons of the year, so I might as well complete the cycle. After many years of doing this kind of thing, I still find it ironic that, musician and hymn-tune maven that I am, I rarely have a tune in mind when I write a hymn. This hymn is one of the exceptions. I've been thinking a lot about Orlando Gibbons' (d. 1625) tune SONG 20 lately, so here's a chance to use it.
Oh, golden harvest hour
When, our reward in view,
We labor with redoubled pow'r
And Satan's host subdue!
Clap, hills, your tinted hands!
Sing, valleys! Skip, you fields!
Return to God, you weary lands,
With full and fruited yields!
Rejoice, all you who toil;
Dispose your limbs for rest.
The vintage kept in silent soil
Is strongest, richest, best.
Oh, hour of golden peace,
When all perfected, done,
We reap the hour of blest release
And kiss the risen Son!
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