At an Annual Convention.
1 Dear Lord, behold thy servants, here,
From various parts together meet,
To tell their labors through the year,
And lay the harvest at thy feet.
2 The reapers cry, "Thy fields are white,
All ready to be gathered in,
And harvests wave in changing light,
Far as the eye can trace the scene."
3 Lord, bless us while we here remain;
With holy love our bosoms fill;
O may thy doctrine drop like rain,
And like the silent dew distil.
4 While we attend thy churches' care
O grant us wisdom from above;
With prudent thought and humble prayer,
May we fulfil the works of love.