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Hymn 655:

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;
Grant, O harvest Lord, 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 in that day

All offenses purge away,
Giving angels charge at last

In the fire the tares to cast;
But the fruitful ears to store

 in His garner evermore.

Then, thou church triumphant, come,

Raise the song of harvest home:

All are safely gathered in,

Free from sorrow, free from sin;

There, forever purified,

In God’s garner to abide;

Come, ten thousand angels, come,

Raise the glorious harvest home!

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