Thanksgiving Hymn. (Air, "America." Pat's Pick, page 51; Song Budget, page 70.) 1 Flat. O Thou, whose eye of love Looks on us from above, Low at Thy throne We come to Thee and pray That gleaning day by day, Our grateful hearts alway Thy hand may own. Thine are the waving fields, Thine hand the harvest yields, And unto Thee, To whom for rain and dew, And skies of sunny blue, Our love and praise are due, We bend the knee. And when beneath the trees, In fairer fields than these Our glad feet roam, There where the bright harps ring, May we our gleanings bring, And in Thty presence sing Our harvest home.