O painter of the fruits and flowers, br We own wise design, br Where these human hands of ours br May share work of Thine! br br Apart from Thee we plant in vain br The root and sow the seed; br Thy early and Thy later rain, br Thy sun and dew we need. br br Our toil is sweet with thankfulness, br Our burden is our boon; br The curse of Earth's gray morning is br The blessing of its noon. br br Why search the wide world everywhere br For Eden's unknown ground? br That garden of the primal pair br May nevermore be found. br br But, blest by Thee, our patient toil br May right the ancient wrong, br And give to every clime and soil br The beauty lost so long. br br Our homestead flowers and fruited trees br May Eden's orchard shame; br We taste the tempting sweets of these br Like Eve, without her blame. br br And, North and South and East and West, br The pride of every zone, br The fairest, rarest, and the best br May all be made our own. br br Its earliest shrines the young world sought br In hill-groves and in bowers, br The fittest offerings thither brought br Were Thy own fruits and flowers. br br And still with reverent hands we cull br Thy gifts each year renewed; br The good is always beautiful, br The beautiful is good.