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 need 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 God’s 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.
God of harvest, grant that we
wholesome grain and pure may be.

3 For our God again shall come,
and shall take the harvest home,
from the field shall in that day
all offenses cast away,
giving angels charge at last
in the fire the tares to cast,
but the fruitful ears to store
in God’s garner evermore.

4 Then, O 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 presence to abide.
Come, ten thousand angels, come!
Raise the song of harvest home.