Sexagesima Sunday

O God! by whom the seed is given,
By whom the harvest blest;
Whose word, like manna showered from heaven,
Is planted in our breast;

Preserve it from the passing feet,
And plunderers of the air;
The sultry sun's intenser heat,
And weeds of worldly care.

Though buried deep or thinly strewn,
Do Thou Thy grace supply;
The hope in earthly furrows sown
Shall ripen in the sky!