1 Come, O thankful people, come,
raise the song of harvest home;
all is safely gathered in
as 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 blessings of the field,
all the stores the gardens yield,
all the fruits in full supply
ripened 'neath the summer sky,
All that spring with bounteous hand
scatters o'er the smiling land,
all that liberal autumn pours
from its rich o'erflowing stores.

3 These to you, our God, we owe,
source from whom all blessing flow;
and for these our songs we raise,
grateful vows and solemn praise.
Come, then, thankful people, come,
raise the song of harvest home;
come to God's own temple, come,
raise the song of harvest home.