Published by Valerie Root on Sat, 25 Sep 2021 20:53

Sunday 26th September 2021

Join Us For Our Pet Service

We give thanks for pets and all the joy they bring.

Bring your pets with you!

Bring a photo of a much loved pet!

Bring a soft toy animal to church!

You can even dress as your favourite animal!


HYMNS

Come, ye thankful people come,

Come, ye thankful people come

raise the song of harvest-home:

all is safely gathered in,

ere the winter storms begin:

God, our maker, doth provide

for our wants to be supplied:

come to God’s own temple, come;

raise the song of harvest-home.

All this world is God’s own field,

fruit unto his praise to yield;

wheat and tares therein are sown,

unto joy or sorrow grown;

ripening with a wondrous power

till the final harvest-hour;

grant, O Lord of life, that we

holy grain and pure may be.

For we know that thou wilt come,

and wilt take thy people home;

from thy field wilt purge away

all that doth offend, that day;

and thine angels charge at last

in the fire the tares to cast,

but the fruitful ears to store

in thy garner evermore.

Come then, Lord of mercy, come,

bid us sing thy harvest-home;

let thy saints be gathered in,

free from sorrow, free from sin:

all upon the golden floor

praising thee for evermore:

come, with all thine angels come, bid us sing thy harvest-home.

 

God, whose farm is all creation

God, whose farm is all creation,

take the gratitude we give;

take the finest of our harvest,

crops we grow that men may live.

Take our ploughing, seeding, reaping,

hopes and fears of sun and rain,

all our thinking, planning, waiting,

ripened in this fruit and grain.

All our labour, all our watching,

all our calendar of care,

in these crops of your creation,

take, O God; they are our prayer. 


To thee, O Lord, our hearts we raise

To thee, O Lord, our hearts we raise

in hymns of adoration,

to thee bring sacrifice & praise

with shouts of exultation:

bright robes of gold the fields adorn,

the hills with joy are ringing,

the valleys stand so thick with corn

that even they are singing.

And now, on this our festal day,

thy bounteous hand confessing,

upon thine altar, Lord, we lay

the first-fruits of thy blessing:

by thee the souls of men are fed

with gifts of grace supernal;

you who dost give us earthly bread:

give us the bread eternal.

We bear the burden of the day,

and often toil seems dreary;

but labour ends with sunset ray,

and rest comes for the weary:

may we, the angel-reaping o’er,

stand at the last accepted,

Christ’s golden sheaves for evermore

to garners bright elected.

O blessed is that land of God,

where saints abide for ever;

where golden fields spread far and broad

where flows the crystal river:

the strains of all its holy throng

with ours today are blending;

thrice blessed is that harvest-song

which never hath an ending


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