The Soldier
by Rupert Brooke
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If I should die, think only this of me:
That there’s some corner of a foreign field That is for ever England. There shall be
In that rich earth, a richer dust concealed;
A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware, Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam; A body of England’s, breathing English air, Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home.
And think, this heart, all evil shed away,
A pulse in the eternal mind, no less
Gives somewhere back the thoughts by England given; Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day; And laughter, learnt of friends; and gentleness,
In hearts at leace, under an English heaven.
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Set to Music by Rachel Branston
Lord of the Harvest
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Lord of the harvest, Lord of the field,
Give thanks now to God in nature revealed.
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Give thanks for the sun, the wind and the rain,
And thanks for the crops that feed us again.
The corn safely cut is gathered inside
We thank you, oh Lord, that you can provide.
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Lord of the harvest, Lord of the field,
Give thanks now to God in nature revealed.
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The trees ripe with fruit stand proud in the sun,
We gather them now that summer is gone.
For yours is the wonder, yours is the power
Yours is the glory of fruit and of flower.
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Lord of the harvest, Lord of the field,
give thanks now to God in nature revealed.
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So in all our plenty, help us to see,
The needs all around whatever they be.
With food for the body, strength for the soul,
It’s healing and caring, making them whole.
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Lord of the harvest, Lord of the field,
Give thanks now to God in nature revealed.
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Words and music © Jancis Harvey
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