Classic Poem

Reapers in God's great field of Truth,
I would come after, like gentle Ruth,—

Gleaning of that ye have left behind;
Happy my simple wealth to bind.

If ye should reckon me overbold,
Standing amid your sheaves of gold,

Do but hearken the Master's call,—
“See, my reapers, that ye let fall,

“Out of the plenty in my land,
Here and there for the gleaner's hand.”

So I follow where ye have trod,
Reapers who reap the fields of God.