[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.