Come ye thankful people come



"Fire bush" on our property

As the fire bushes blaze in the fall, so does my heart.  I love fall.  Love the warmth that is the opposite of the falling temperatures here in southern Indiana. 

Thanksgiving brings to mind the words of this old hymn:

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.

On this Thanksgiving day I think of those that love me and give to me every day.  People who enrich my life.  If you are reading this, count yourself among those people. Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!