In the fields where, long ago,
Dropping tears,
amid the leaves,
Ruth's young feet went to and fro,
Binding up the
scattered sheaves,
In the field that heard the voice
Of Judea's
shepherd King,
Still the gleaners may rejoice,
Still the reapers
shout and sing.
For each mount and vale and plain
Felt the touch of
holier feet.
Then the gleaners of the grain
Heard, in voices
full and sweet,
"Peace on earth, good will to men,"
Ring from angel
lips afar,
While, o'er every glade and glen,
Broke the light of
Bethlehem's star.
Star of hope to souls in night,
Star of peace
above our strife,
Guiding, where the gates of death
Ope to fields of
endless life.
Wanderer from the nightly throng
Which the eastern
heavens gem;
Guided, by an angel's song,
To the Babe of
Bethlehem.
Not Judea's hills alone
Have earth's weary
gleaners trod,
Not to heirs of David's throne
Is it given to
"reign with God."
But where'er on His green earth
Heavenly faith and
longing are,
Heavenly hope and life have birth,
'Neath the smile
of Bethlehem's star.
In each lowly heart or home,
By each
love-watched cradle-bed,
Where we rest, or where we roam,
Still its
changeless light is shed.
In its beams each quickened heart,
Howe'er saddened
or denied,
Keeps one little place apart
For the Hebrew
mother's Child.
And that inner temple fair
May be holier
ground than this,
Hallowed by the pilgrim's prayer,
Warmed by many a
pilgrim's kiss.
In its shadow still and dim,
Where our holiest
longings are,
Rings forever Bethlehem's hymn,
Shines forever
Bethlehem's star.
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