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!
  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.
  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.
  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!

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