No Sheaves | AdventAI

Pacific Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Oakland, California · Oct 12, 1876

No Sheaves.

'Twas the joyous time of harvest; The ripe and golden grain Was bowing 'neath the sickle, And lading high the wain.

The brown and stalwart reapers Their glistening sickles swung; And rosy maids were gleaning The standing sheaves among.

A maiden, pale and slender, Came, with the rest, to glean; Her garb was coarse and homely, And humble was her mien. She gleaned among the briers And stones beside the wall, Searching for wheat-stalks scattered, By careless hands let fall.

But when the master saw her, “Glean here no more,” he said; “For hands like thine there waiteth Another work instead. Bring from the bubbling fountain The water cool and sweet, To refresh the thirsty reapers, And bathe their weary feet.”

Then meekly bowed the maiden Unto the master’s will, And through that day so tedious Fulfilled her mission still. And when the sunset shadows Were lengthening o’er the plain, The reapers and the gleaners Brought back their store of grain.

The maiden’s cheeks were flushing; With weary step and slow She came, and sighing, whispered, “No sheaves have I to show.” Then spake the master kindly, “Thou hast not toiled in vain, Though in thine arms thou bearest No sheaves of golden grain.”

“Without thee these had fainted Beneath the burning sun, Who now return rejoicing In all their labor done. Grieve not because thou bringest Naught from thy toil away; For, at the hour of reckoning, Thou shalt receive as they.”*

Full many are the toilers, In life’s great harvest-field, Cheering the busy reapers While they their sickles wield. Full many, sad, faint-hearted, Bring at the close of day, Nothing, from all their labor, But weariness, away.

Nothing but sunburnt faces, Garments besprent and torn, Hands wounded with the briars, And weary feet and worn. Lord of the harvest, comfort The humble ones, we pray, Who toil beside the reapers Yet bring no sheaves away.

—Heathen Woman’s Friend.