Come Ye Thankful People (Thankful Thursday)

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 sorrows grown;

First the blade, and then the ear,

Then the full corn shall appear.

Lord of harvest, grant that we

wholesome graini and pure may be.

For the Lord our God shall come,

And shall take His harvest home;

From His field shall 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 ever-more.

Even so, Lord, quickly come,

To Thy final harvest hime;

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.

Henry Alford, 1844