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251
THE LITTLE GLEANER.
“When ye reap the harvest of your land, thou shalt not wholly reap the corners thy field, neither shalt thou gather the gleanings of the harvest. ... Thou shalt leave them for the poor.”
—Leviticus, XIX. 9, 10.
Whilst here we're busy gleaning,—
The little birds and I,—
The heavy sheaves are leaning
Together, bright and dry.
The word can ne'er be broken,—
It is for ever sure!—
Which God hath kindly spoken
In favor of the poor.
The little birds and I,—
The heavy sheaves are leaning
Together, bright and dry.
The word can ne'er be broken,—
It is for ever sure!—
Which God hath kindly spoken
In favor of the poor.
'T is he who has commanded
The reaper of the grain,
When he goes off full-handed,
To let some ears remain.
And thus our Heavenly Father
Reveals it as his will,
That we some bread may gather
Who have no fields to till.
The reaper of the grain,
When he goes off full-handed,
To let some ears remain.
And thus our Heavenly Father
Reveals it as his will,
That we some bread may gather
Who have no fields to till.
The little birds, and mother,
And I, are poor indeed;
And I 've an infant brother
For her to tend and feed.
So I, their little Lizzie,
Do all that in me lies,
By keeping ever busy,
To furnish their supplies.
And I, are poor indeed;
And I 've an infant brother
For her to tend and feed.
So I, their little Lizzie,
Do all that in me lies,
By keeping ever busy,
To furnish their supplies.
252
My father 's gone to Heaven,—
Our wants he does n't know;
And leave to me is given
To glean the fields below.
And want will ne'er destroy us,
While these young hands can toil,
And mother talks so joyous
About the widow's oil!
Our wants he does n't know;
And leave to me is given
To glean the fields below.
And want will ne'er destroy us,
While these young hands can toil,
And mother talks so joyous
About the widow's oil!
The widow that we read of,
Who baked the “little cake,”
From meal herself had need of,
For good Elijah's sake;—
Who could not send, without it,
The stranger off, distressed;—
But you know all about it,—
How God her barrel blessed!
Who baked the “little cake,”
From meal herself had need of,
For good Elijah's sake;—
Who could not send, without it,
The stranger off, distressed;—
But you know all about it,—
How God her barrel blessed!
When, all alone, I'm gleaning,
I fancy I can feel,
And understand, the meaning
Of her increase of meal.
For God will ne'er forsake us,
Till we forsake his way!
And here 's enough to make us
A little cake to-day.
I fancy I can feel,
And understand, the meaning
Of her increase of meal.
For God will ne'er forsake us,
Till we forsake his way!
And here 's enough to make us
A little cake to-day.
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