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!

For the Lord our God shall come, And shall take His harvest Home; From His field shall in that day All offences purge away; Give His angels charge at last In the fire the tares to cast; But the fruitful ears to store In His gamer evermore.

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.