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 G-d’s own temple, come, raise the song of harvest home.
2 All the world is G-d’s own field, fruit as praise to G-d we yield; wheat and tares together sown are to joy or sorrow grown; first the blade and then the ear, then the full corn shall appear; Lord of harvest, grant that we wholesome grain and pure may be.
3 For the Lord our G-d shall come, and shall take the harvest home; from the field shall in that day all offenses purge away, giving angels charge at last in the fire the tares to cast;
but the fruitful ears to store
in the garner evermore.
4 Even so, Lord, quickly come, bring thy final harvest home; gather thou thy people in,
free from sorrow, free from sin, there, forever purified, in thy presence to abide; come, with all thine angels, come, raise the glorious harvest home.