Come, Ye Thankful People

Verse 1

Come, ye thankful people, come,
Raise the song of harvest home;
All is safely gathered in,
Ere the winter storms begin.

God our Maker doth provide
For our wants to be supplied;
Come to God's own temple, come;
Raise the song of harvest home!

Verse 2

We ourselves are God's own field,
Fruit unto His praise to yield;
Wheat and tares together sown,
Unto joy or sorrow grown;

First the blade and then the ear,
Then the full corn shall appear;
Grant, O harvest Lord, that we
Wholesome grain and pure may be.

Verse 3

For the Lord our God shall come,
And shall take His harvest home;
From His field shall purge away
All that doth offend, that day;

Give His angels charge at last
In the fire the tares to cast;
But the fruitful ears to store
In His garner evermore.

Verse 4

Then, thou church triumphant, come,
Raise the song of harvest home;
All are safely gathered in,
Free from sorrow, free from sin,

There, forever purified,
In God's garner to abide;
Come, ten thousand angels, come,
Raise the glorious harvest home!