| Ruth From Moab's hill the stranger comes, By sorrow tried, widowed by death; She comes to Judah's goodly homes, Led by the trusting hand of faith. She leaves her childhood's home, and all That brothers, friends and parents gave; The flowery fields, the lordly hall, The green sod o'er her husbands grave. She leaves the gods her people own, - Soulless and weak, they're hers no more; Jehovah, He is God alone, And Him her spirit will adore. At Bethlehem's gates the stranger stands, All friendless, poor, and wanting rest; She waits the cheer of loving hands, And kindred hearts that God hath. Entreat me not, dear friend, to go Or leave thy cherished side; Thy Lord hath called me here, I know, And here I will abide, I'll go with thee, do not deny; I'll make with thee my home; Where'er thou diest, I will die, And there shall be my tomb. From Macoy's 1866 Ritual |
