Poem February 26, 1955 Issue

GLEANING

Rosemary C. Cobham

When Ruth went gleaning in her kinsman's field
The reapers let the ears of barley fall
Through Boaz' generosity, and she
Bent down, and gleaned them all.

So, if I seem to have no field today,
All is not lost, for all men are my kin.
I will be glad my brother's field is full—
And he will let me in.

Rosemary C. Cobham

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