Title: Come, ye thankful people, come

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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. 
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, give his 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, 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. 
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