My Father's Field

Review and Herald Publishing Association · Takoma Park Station, Washington, D. C. · Jan 20, 1910

My Father's Field

A MAIDEN stood where the fields were ripe, And gathered the golden wheat: Gaily she sang as she bound her sheaves, And laid them about her feet.

One marked her there as she passed her by, Alone with her hard-earned spoil, And spoke of rest, for the sun was high, And the reapers spent with toil.

But the maiden smiled, as her glad voice said, “Nay, lady, I may not yield; The work is great, but the work is sweet, I toil in my father's field.”

Gleaners of Christ, in your lonely toil, When weary, and fain to yield, Take comfort here, though the work is great, Ye toil in your Father's field.

And the Father's house lies over the hill Where the sun of life goes down: There shall ye rest, and the Father's smile Forever your work shall crown.

—Selected.