US Thanksgiving: In Thy Garner to Abide

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.