name is lost, the tune being left nameless when printed.
The impression is that it was a secular melody. A very suitable tune for
the hymn is Geo. J. Webb's "Millennial Dawn" ("the Morning Light is
breaking.")

_THANKSGIVING._

"DIE FELDER WIR PFLUeGEN UND STREUEN."

We plow the fields and scatter
The good seed on the land,
But it is fed and watered
By God's Almighty hand,
He sends the snow in winter,
The warmth to swell the grain,
The breezes, and the sunshine
And soft, refreshing rain,
All, all good gifts around us
Are sent from heaven above
Then thank the Lord, O thank the Lord
For all His love!

Matthias Claudius, who wrote the German original of this little poem,
was a native of Reinfeld, Holstein, born 1770 and died 1815. He wrote
lyrics, humorous, pathetic and religious, some of which are still
current in Germany.

The translator of the verses is Miss Jane Montgomery Campbell, whose
identity has not been traced. Hers is evidently one of the retiring
names brought to light by one unpretending achievement. English readers
owe to her the above modest and devout hymn, which was first published
here in Rev. C.S. Bere's _Garland of Songs with Tunes_, 1861.

Little is known of Arthur Cottman, composer to Miss Campbell's words. He
was born in 1842, and died in 1879.

[Illustration: Lowell Mason]

"WITH SONGS AND HONORS SOUNDING LOUD."

Stanzas of this enduring hymn of Watts' have been as often recited as
sung.

He sends His showers of blessing down
To cheer the plains below;
He makes the grass the mountains crown,
And corn in valleys grow.

_THE TUNE_,

One of the chorals--if not the best--to claim partnership with this
sacred classic, is John Cole's "Geneva," distinguished among the few
fugue tunes which the singing world refuses to dismiss. There is a
growing grandeur in the opening solo and its following duet as they
climb the first tetra-chord, when the full harmony suddenly reveals the
majesty of the music. The little parenthetic duo at the eighth bar
breaks the roll of the song for one breath, and the concord of voices
closes in again like a diapason. One thinks of a bird-note making a
waterfall listen.

"HARVEST HOME."

Let us sing of the sheaves, when the summer is done,
And the garners are stored with the gifts of the sun.
Shouting home from the fields like the voice of the sea,