| Gleaning (From the Book of Ruth) |
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| Poem written by Elder J.A. Rowell, Sr. | |
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There is a still small voice that calls, Come little child and glean, The blessings from my hand which falls, Reap glories, yet unseen. My gospel field is golden green, Thou with my servants stay, It is your privilege to glean, Until the end of day. My grace assures a bounteous yield, Here in my field abide, You shall not glean another field, You are my promised bride. Oh, Saviour, let me live and glean, Among thy servants blest, While on thy arm of love, I lean, Til I am laid to rest. |
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