Come, Ye Thankful People, Come

 

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.

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.

For the Lord our God shall come,
  And shall take His harvest home;

From His fields 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.

Even so, Lord, quickly come, 
Bring 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. 

Amen.

"Angels"
Prophetic artwork by
Janice VanCronkhite

"Come Ye Thankful People, Come"
(1844)
Henry Alford
(1810-1871)
English clergyman and Hymn writer