(Ruth 2)
My soul, where hast thou gleaned today?
In Truth’s ripe harvest field?
The Lord thy search doth well repay,
And makes it blessing yield.
My soul,
He makes it blessing yield.
Hast thou, with meek and lowly mind,
Like earnest, cleaving Ruth,
Thyself prepar’d to seed: and find
Some ears of precious Truth?
My soul,
Some ears of precious Truth?
In weakness hast thou firmly clung
To Him, thy Strength and Lord?
What utt’rance gave His gracious tongue?
What word canst thou record?
My soul,
What word canst thou record?
Thou didst but look for scatter’d ears,
The droppings of the sheavas,
But he that firm to Christ adheres
Abundame e’er receives.
My soul,
Abundance e’er receives.
Hast thou close by the reapers kept,
With those who’re pure and chaste?
From tempting paths with prudence stepped?
His holy footsteps traced?
My soul,
His holy footsteps traced?
Hast thou thy morsel eaten up
In company divine?
And did He bless thy sober cup
With taste of heavenly wine?
My soul,
With taste of heavenly wine?
If with Himself thou art suffic’d,
And fill’d with grace and truth,
Hast thou no word to say of Christ
To weary age and youth?
My soul,
To weary age and youth?