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Weary Gleaner, Whence Comest Thou
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Weary gleaner, whence comest thou,
With empty hands and clouded brow?
Plodding along thy lonely way,
Tell me, where hast thou gleaned today?
Late I found a barren field,
The harvest past, my search revealed.
Others golden sheaves had gained,
Only stubble for me remained.


Forth to the harvest field a-way!
Gather your handfuls while you may;
All day long in the field a-bide,
Gleaning close by the reapersí side.

Careless gleaner, what hast thou here;
These faded flowírs and leaflets sere?
Hungry and thirsty, tell me, pray,
Where, oh, where hast thou gleaned today?
All day long in shady bowírs,
Iíve gaily sought earthís fairest flowírs;
Now, alas! too late I see
All Iíve gathered is vanity.


Burdened gleaner, thy sheaves I see;
Indeed thou must aweary be!
Singing along the homeward way,
Glad one, where hast thou gleaned today?
Stay me not, till day is done
Iíve gathered handfuls one by one;
Here and there for me they fall,
Close by the reapírs Iíve found them all.


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