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 provideFor 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 weWholesome grain and pure may be.