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 All the world is 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.
Lord of harvest, grant that we
wholesome grain and pure may be.

3 For the Lord our God shall come,
and shall take the harvest home;
from His field shall in that day
all offenses purge away;
give His angels charge at last
in the fire the tares to cast;
but the fruitful ears to store
in His garner evermore.

4 Even so, Lord, quickly come,
to 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.