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.