p. 1 | RUTH AND NAOMI

Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · Jun 24, 1875

RUTH AND NAOMI.

'Twas a fair scene. The vintage and the grain Were brightening over Moab's fertile plain. A faint wind all the feathery palm-tops stirred, And the acanthus and acacia bent, Till o'er them crept a low, delicious quiver, While softly came the voice of Arnon's river, On its slow journeyings to the Dead Sea going, Bearing the sunlight thither on its flowing.

But oh! what mournful group are they who stand Gazing with tearful eyes o'er this fair land? Their peaceful camels 'mid the near shrubs straying, While they a long and last farewell are saying? Two fresh as yet in girlhood's sunrise bloom, And one o'er whom the years have cast their gloom, The widowed wife and mother. Desolation Reigns in Joy's habitation.

“Return, my daughters,” cried the mother brave, “Peace dwelleth not for me this side the grave, To mine own land of Judah hence I go, But shall I take thee with me? No, ah no! Hence to your peaceful homes, and be forgot The care and sorrow that hath been our lot.” Still those white arms round her neck were creeping, “We go with thee,” they said, amid their weeping. Again Naomi answered, “Nay, my daughters, My bark must anchor soon in Death's cold waters.” And then she pressed them softly to her breast, Saying, “May the Almighty give thee rest.”

Then Orpah kissed the lips that had been kind,— And turned in silence to the path of home, Back to her people, as a freed young bird, Seeketh its native herd wherein to roam.

But Ruth yet lingered, and her voice was low And steadfast as she said, “With thee, I go. Entreat me not to leave thee, thine are mine, Together will we worship at one shrine, I will dwell with thee, die where thou dost die, And in one narrow grave beside thee lie; More may the God of Israel do to me If aught but death shall sever me and thee.” Thus went they forth together, fond and true, And as the touching story we pursue, We see the Highest had them in his sight, And how he turned their darkness into light.

In kindness caring for the alien bird, A pining exile from her olden nest, O'er the deep waters of one true heart stirred, She bore the olive to an ark of rest. Oh! shall we doubt when all around is dim, And life a vale of weariness appears? The shadows turn to sunlight touched by Him Who counteth all our tears.