Sandra McCracken - In feast or fallow

When the fiel^Dds are dry, and the wi^Cnter is l^Gong Blessed ^Dare the meek, the h^Cungry, the poor ^G When my ^Emsoul is downcast, and my ^D/F#voice has no ^Gsong For ^Ammercy, for com^G/Bfort, I ^Cwait on the ^DLord

In the ^Emharvest ^D/F#feast or the ^Gfallow ^Cground, My C^Dertain Hope Is In J^Cesus F^Gound My ^EmLot, My ^D/F#Cup, my p^Gortion ^Csure Whate^Cver co^Gmes, we s^Dhall ^Emendure Whate^Cver co^Gmes, we s^Dhall ^Gendure

On a ^Dcross of wood, His blo^Cod was ou^Gtpoured He rose ^Dfrom the ground, li^Cke a bird to the^G sky Bringing^Em peace to our violence an^D/F#d crushing de^Gath's door Our ^AmMaker incarnat^G/Be, our G^Cod who provi^Ddes.

In the ^Emharvest ^D/F#feast or the ^Gfallow ^Cground, My C^Dertain Hope Is In J^Cesus F^Gound My ^EmLot, My ^D/F#Cup, my p^Gortion ^Csure Whate^Cver co^Gmes, we s^Dhall ^Emendure Whate^Cver co^Gmes, we s^Dhall ^Gendure

^EmCome, ^Coh ^Gcome, ^AmEmm^Emanu^Cel ^EmCome, ^Coh ^Gcome, E^Ammma^Emnue^Cl

When the ^Dearth beneath me ^Ccrumbles and q^Guakes Not a sp^Darrow falls, nor a ^Chair from my ^Ghead Without ^EmHis hand to guide me, my ^D/F#shield and my^G strength In j^Amoy or in ^G/Bsorrow, in l^Cife or in d^Death

In the ^Emharvest ^D/F#feast or the ^Gfallow ^Cground, My C^Dertain Hope Is In J^Cesus F^Gound My ^EmLot, My ^D/F#Cup, my p^Gortion ^Csure Whate^Cver co^Gmes, we s^Dhall ^Emendure Whate^Cver co^Gmes, we s^Dhall ^Gendure