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Words: Henry Alford (1810-1871) Music: George J. Elvey (1816-1893)
Come, Ye Thankful People ComeD G D Come, ye thankful people, come, G D Raise the song of harvest home! G A7 D All is safely gathered in, E7 A7 Ere the winter storms begin. D God our Maker doth provide D7 G For our wants to be supplied; B7 Em A D Come to God's own temple, come, G D A7 D Raise the song of harvest home. All the world is God's own field, Fruit as praise to God we yield; Wheat and tares together sown Are to 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 the harvest home; From the 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 the garner evermore. Even so, Lord, quickly come, Bring 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.
Alternative arangement D A Bm A D Come, ye thankful people, come, D A Bm Em F# Raise the song of harvest home! Bm Em A D All is safely gathered in, D E7 A E A Ere the winter storms begin. A D God our Maker doth provide D D7 G For our wants to be supplied; B Em A D Come to God's own temple, come, G D/F# Bm A D Raise the song of harvest home.
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