LYRIC
| Song | Come Ye Thankful People Come |
| Album | Thanksgiving and Harvest Hymns |
| Genre | Traditional Christian Hymns |
| Writer | Henry Alford |
| Publisher / Copyrights | |
| Translator | |
| Tags | Come Ye Thankful People Come |
| Theme(s) | |
| Scripture Reference(s) | |
| CCLI Song No |
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;
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 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.
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 Garner To Abide;
Come, With All Thine Angels Come, Raise The Glorious Harvest Home.
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