Hymn 310 - 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.

We ourselves are 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 field shall purge away, All that doth offend that day;

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, 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.