[MUSIC PLAYING]
(SINGING) 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 we 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 a harvest, Lord that
we-- wholesome grain and pure may be.
For the Lord our God shall
come, and shall take thes e harvests home. From His fields shall in that
day, all offenses purge away. Give His angels charge at last,
in the fire that 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 presence to abide.
Come, with all
Thine angels, come. Raise the glorious harvest home.
Raise the glorious harvest home.