1 Come, you thankful people, come,
raise the song of harvest home;
all is safely gathered in
ere the winter storms begin;
God, our Maker, does provide
for our wants to be supplied;
come to God's own temple, come.
Raise the song of harvest home.
2 All the world is God's own field,
fruit unto his praise to yield;
wheat and weeds together sown,
unto 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 God shall come
and shall take his harvest home;
From his field shall in that day
All offenses purge away,
giving angels charge at last
in the fire the weeds to cast,
but the fruitful ears to store
in God's garner evermore.
4 Even so, Lord, quickly come
to your final harvest home;
gather all your people in,
free from sorrow, free from sin
there, forever purified,
in your presence to abide;
come, with all your angels come,
raise the glorious harvest home.