RUTH.
BY T. HOOD, ESQ.
She stood breast-high amidst the corn,
Clasp’d by the golden light of morn;
Like the sweetheart of the sun,
Who many a burning kiss had won.
Clasp’d by the golden light of morn;
Like the sweetheart of the sun,
Who many a burning kiss had won.
On her cheek an autumn flush
Deeply ripen’d—such a blush
In the midst of brown was born,
Like red poppies grown with corn.
Deeply ripen’d—such a blush
In the midst of brown was born,
Like red poppies grown with corn.
Round her eyes her tresses fell—
Which were darkest none could tell;
But long lashes veil’d a light
Which had else been all too bright;
Which were darkest none could tell;
But long lashes veil’d a light
Which had else been all too bright;
And her hat with shady brim
Made her forehead darkly dim:
Thus she stood among the stooks,
Praising God with her sweet looks.
Made her forehead darkly dim:
Thus she stood among the stooks,
Praising God with her sweet looks.
Sure, I said, Heav’n did not mean
Where I reap thou shouldst but glean:
Lay thy sheaf adown, and come
Share my harvest and my home.
Where I reap thou shouldst but glean:
Lay thy sheaf adown, and come
Share my harvest and my home.
