Come, Ye Thankful People, Come

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Come, Ye Thankful People, Come
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Come, ye thankful people, come.
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Raise the song of harvest home.
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All is safely gathered in, ere the winter storms
begin.
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God, our Maker, doth provide for our wants to
be supplied.
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Come to Gods own temple, come.Raise the song of
harvest home.
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All the blessings of the field. All the stores
the gardens yield.
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All the fruits in full supply, ripened neath
the summer sky.
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All that spring with bounteous hand scatters oer
the smiling land.
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All that liberal autumn pours from her rich oer
flowing stores.
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