The Glory of English Prose - Letters to My Grandson by Stephen Coleridge
page 13 of 149 (08%)
page 13 of 149 (08%)
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In the short Book of Ruth there lies embalmed in the finest English a very tender love story, set in all the sweet surroundings of the ripening corn, the gathered harvest, and the humble gleaners. Nothing can be more delightful than the direction of Boaz, the great land-owner, to his men, after he had espied Ruth in her beauty gleaning in his fields:-- "And when she was risen up to glean, Boaz commanded his young men, saying, Let her glean even among the sheaves, and reproach her not: "And let fall also some of the handfuls on purpose for her, and leave them, that she may glean them, and rebuke her not." This little gem in the books of the Bible inspired Hood to write one of his most perfect lyrics:-- "She stood breast high amid the corn Clasped by the golden light of morn, Like the sweetheart of the sun, Who many a glowing kiss had won. * * * * * Thus she stood amid the stocks, Praising God with sweetest looks. Sure, I said, Heaven did not mean Where I reap thou should'st but glean; Lay thy sheaf adown and come, |
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