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Come, Ye Thankful People, Come

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.

O Sons and Daughters of the King

O sons and daughters of the King,
Whom heavenly hosts in glory sing,
Today the grave has lost its sting!

That Easter morn, at break of day,
The faithful women went their way
To seek the tomb where Jesus lay.

An angel clad in white they see,
Who sit and speaks unto the three,
"Your Lord will go to Galilee."

That night the apostles met in fear;
Among them came their master dear
And said, "MY peace be with you here."

When Thomas first the tidings heard
That they had seen the risen Lord,
He doubted the disciples’ word.

"My pierced side, O Thomas, see,
And look upon my hands, my feet;
Not faithless but believing be."

No longer Thomas then denied;
He saw the feet, the hands, the side;
"You are my Lord and God!" he cried.

How blest are they who have not seen
And yet whose faith has constant been,
For they eternal life shall win.

On this most holy day of days
Be laud and jubilee and praise:
To God your hearts and voice raise.