bedocat
07-06-2008, 12:47 PM
The sun bled a line of dawn’s approach
On the Eastern horizon’s edge,
While three women walked in silent thought
Toward Bethlehem, Judah, ahead
The famine had ended; her sojourn was done
So many years – ten – since had passed,
In the interim losing a husband, two sons
For one woman, this journey her last.
A pledge to be honored, her duty upheld
Still a daughter by marriage, though death
Had delivered her, husbandless, here on the road
Toward a strange land and people, bereft
Of all things familiar, since youth she had known
All her kindred now leaving behind
This woman walked dutifully, counting her steps
caught in struggle of heart over mind.
The third brushed the hair from her fair Eastern face,
Readjusted her bundle, walked on.
She, too, had lost -- but The Almighty God --
She had gained from her time with Mahlon.
Oh, Elimilech, it was what had to be done,
Forced by famine to Moabite land
How I wish you had seen your sons grown to be men
Each one married, the futures they planned –
Mahlon, oh, Kilion sons of my womb,
The Lord giveth, he taketh away,
You were mine for a time, and my life had been blessed,
But my life is made bitter this day.
Naomi then stopped, turning, facing the sun
To her daughters she spoke from her heart,
“Go back, both of you, to your own mother’s home,
The Lord bless you and make a new start.”
“No, Naomi!” they cried, “We will go on with you
To your people,” and weeping they clung.
“Can I give you husbands, if even this day
I could marry and bear two more sons?
Would you wait, still unmarried, until they grew up?
No, my daughters, you must return home.
The hand of the Lord is against me, my journey
Is bitter -- I go on alone.”
So Orpah, she kissed her and turned her foot back
To the Moabite home of her youth,
But the other one, motionless, would not depart,
Speaking kindly, Naomi said, “Ruth,
Look, your sister-in-law will be home again soon,
Going back to her people and gods…”
“Don’t urge me,” the Moabite, Ruth, then replied,
Resolute in her manner and cause,
“Where you go, I will go. Where you stay I will stay,
Who your people are, they will be mine,
Your God is my God, where you die, I will die,
There be buried, or God for my crime,
Deal severely with me if there be any thing
Save death come between you and I.”
Seeing clearly that Ruth was determined
Naomi turned westward toward Bethlehem’s sky.
The women, they thronged at the well and inquired,
“Naomi, is it really you?”
Surmising the woman accompanying her,
They had heard of this Moabite, Ruth
“No longer Naomi, but Mara, I’m called
God afflicts me, misfortune belays
All my steps and this bitterness
Swallows my life, I left full, return empty this day.”
They sat in the glow of the last bit of oil,
The wick trimmed to barely alight,
Naomi was thinking of Boaz her kin,
To appeal him to lessen their plight.
“Let me glean in the fields, as widows may do
By your law,” Ruth implored her consent,
“Go ahead then, my daughter,” Naomi replied,
“Gather sheaves – the Lord bless your intent.”
The barley bent ripe in the afternoon sun,
Sickles flashed, parting stalk from the earth,
The sheavers, they gathered, the poor ones they bent
To collect what was deemed little worth.
Ruth straightened a moment, uncurling her back
Returned to her worked, but not missed
By the eyes of the landowner, seated above
On his stallion, “What woman is this?”
He inquired of his foreman, who promptly replied
“It’s the Moabite woman come back
With Naomi -- she asked, “let me glean in your fields,” --
She works steadily, showing no slack.”
Boaz swung ‘round, and the flash of the sun
On the flank of his steed caught Ruth’s eye.
With her hand shielding glare, she looked on, as he rode
With great ease, halting just at her side.
“My, daughter, glean only in fields that are mine,
With my servant girls, follow along,
To the men I have ordered they leave you alone,
Go and drink, when you need, from what’s drawn.”
At this, she bowed low, with her face to the ground,
“For your favor, Lord, what have I done?
I am lower than one of your lowliest girls,
And a foreigner, browned by the sun.”
“I have heard of your kindness to one of my kin,
Toward Naomi, whose home is your own,
How you left both your mother and father to live
With a people that you’ve never known.
Come share with me now of the afternoon meal,”
He offered her more than her need,
She ate and she saved for Naomi the rest,
Then returned to his fields to glean.
“Don’t humble this woman, wherever she gleans,
Leave her more than you usually do,
Don’t speak to her harshly,” he ordered his men,
“Or, the Lord deal harshly with you.”
She gleaned until evening and measured her toil
By the twenty-two liters she gained
She gave this and what she had saved from her meal
To Naomi, who greatly exclaimed,
“Whose field is this, by what man are we blessed
To have profited by this amount?
By Boaz? Lord bless him! A kinsman of mine –
A redeemer – a man of account!”
“Yes, he told me – “ Return to my field again,
Remain until harvest is done” --
“It is good! You’ll remain with his women – no harm
Will befall you – his favor you’ve won.”
So the harvest was finished, the barley and wheat
Lay in heaps for the threshing was nigh,
Naomi was thinking to find Ruth a home,
Find a husband with means to provide,
Then she spoke to her, “Daughter, perfume your dark skin,
Dress to please, then go down to the floor,
Where the threshers lay after their meal and their wine,
Go to Boaz, but don’t go before
He has finished his dining and chosen a place
To retire, then quietly you
Will uncover his feet and lay down by your lord,
He will tell you what you are to do.”
[I]Oh, Lord, by a harlot he came to this world,
You have blessed him by Rahab, your maid,
Bless this servant girl, Ruth, as she humbles herself,
Now to Boaz [I], she fervently prayed.
“Whatever you say, I will do,” and Ruth did,
It was silent and stars broke the sky,
As she made her way through Bethlehem’s winding streets
To the threshing floor, where she would lie,
Hoping grace would befall her from Boaz’s hand,
That his kindness to her would prevail,
Or, ashamed, she’d return when her purpose was done,
Face Naomi, and tell her she’d failed.
All was quiet within, while she waited outside
Noting Boaz and where he had lain,
They had finished their feasting and chosen their beds
From the sounds of sleep, she ascertained,
That the moment had come to accomplish her faith
In the plan that Naomi conceived,
Would he want her, a Moabite woman by birth,
Poor and fruitless, a widow, bereaved?
When the shadows are deepest, and dawn but a thought,
Something startled the man from his sleep,
Boaz peered to where warmth met his skin and called out
in a low voice, “Who’s there at my feet?”
“It is I, Ruth, your servant -- Lord, spread over me,
Just the edge of your garment to say,
As a Kinsman-Redeemer, that I may be blessed,
To become your maid-servant this day.”
“Oh, Ruth, the Lord bless you,” he gently replied,
“Fair of face and of noble renown,
Any young man you chose would have fought for your love,
To an old man you offer this crown.
I will do for you all that you ask,” he then vowed,
“yet a kinsman still nearer exists,
Who may want to redeem you himself -- it’s his right --
I’ll approach him tomorrow with this.
If he blesses you, good – that is how it must be –
If he doesn’t, the joy will be mine,
For your honor is known in the gates of this town,
To redeem you, I vow we’ll be joined.
Lay down, Ruth; when morning approaches, depart,
No one need know a woman’s been here.”
In the soft gray of dawn, with her shawl full of grain,
Boaz watched as her form disappeared.
The day suffered hot, as the men of the town,
Took their business and wisdom to seat,
In the shadow of walls thickly pressed to the Gate,
While the incoming spilled through the streets.
Seated, Boaz looked ‘round for the man whom he sought,
Keeping watch ‘til at last he was found,
Then he gathered ten others, and asked them to wait,
Asked his kinsman to kindly sit down.
“There’s a parcel of land that’s available now
For redemption – Elimelech’s lot --
It’s for sale by Naomi, returned from Moab
I’m suggesting you purchase -- if not --
I will buy it myself, but the first right is yours,
I’m next in the line, after you…”
“I’ll buy it,” he said. “There’s just one other thing…”
Boaz mentioned, “…the lot includes Ruth --
She’s the Moabite widow of Mahlon, you know --
The descendants you give her will own
Any right to the land, in her dead husband’s name...”
“Well,” the kinsman rescindingly toned,
“I’m concerned at the risk to my own estate then,
You redeem her – I really cannot.”
It was done; it was sealed by exchanging of shoes,
In the presence of witnesses bought
By the vow of a kinsman and blessed by the men,
Many children they wished him by Ruth.
If they’d known that the line of the Savior, they’d sealed
They’d have shouted atop of the roofs.
So Boaz went home and he gathered his bride,
She conceived and she bore him a son,
To Naomi, the women of Bethlehem said,
“God has blessed you, oh much favored one,
To be loved by a daughter who’s better to you
Than seven more sons might have been,
From her womb -- name him Obed -- because of her love,
May his name through the country ascend.”
In her lap lay the father of Jesse that day,
Tiny limbs, trembled, waving the air,
For Naomi, a grandson -- but one day a king,
Would descend from the babe lying there,
Who would rule over Israel, having a heart
Like the heart of his God, David’s name
Would ascend through the country, establish the line
Through which Jesus, the Christ, Savior came.
On the Eastern horizon’s edge,
While three women walked in silent thought
Toward Bethlehem, Judah, ahead
The famine had ended; her sojourn was done
So many years – ten – since had passed,
In the interim losing a husband, two sons
For one woman, this journey her last.
A pledge to be honored, her duty upheld
Still a daughter by marriage, though death
Had delivered her, husbandless, here on the road
Toward a strange land and people, bereft
Of all things familiar, since youth she had known
All her kindred now leaving behind
This woman walked dutifully, counting her steps
caught in struggle of heart over mind.
The third brushed the hair from her fair Eastern face,
Readjusted her bundle, walked on.
She, too, had lost -- but The Almighty God --
She had gained from her time with Mahlon.
Oh, Elimilech, it was what had to be done,
Forced by famine to Moabite land
How I wish you had seen your sons grown to be men
Each one married, the futures they planned –
Mahlon, oh, Kilion sons of my womb,
The Lord giveth, he taketh away,
You were mine for a time, and my life had been blessed,
But my life is made bitter this day.
Naomi then stopped, turning, facing the sun
To her daughters she spoke from her heart,
“Go back, both of you, to your own mother’s home,
The Lord bless you and make a new start.”
“No, Naomi!” they cried, “We will go on with you
To your people,” and weeping they clung.
“Can I give you husbands, if even this day
I could marry and bear two more sons?
Would you wait, still unmarried, until they grew up?
No, my daughters, you must return home.
The hand of the Lord is against me, my journey
Is bitter -- I go on alone.”
So Orpah, she kissed her and turned her foot back
To the Moabite home of her youth,
But the other one, motionless, would not depart,
Speaking kindly, Naomi said, “Ruth,
Look, your sister-in-law will be home again soon,
Going back to her people and gods…”
“Don’t urge me,” the Moabite, Ruth, then replied,
Resolute in her manner and cause,
“Where you go, I will go. Where you stay I will stay,
Who your people are, they will be mine,
Your God is my God, where you die, I will die,
There be buried, or God for my crime,
Deal severely with me if there be any thing
Save death come between you and I.”
Seeing clearly that Ruth was determined
Naomi turned westward toward Bethlehem’s sky.
The women, they thronged at the well and inquired,
“Naomi, is it really you?”
Surmising the woman accompanying her,
They had heard of this Moabite, Ruth
“No longer Naomi, but Mara, I’m called
God afflicts me, misfortune belays
All my steps and this bitterness
Swallows my life, I left full, return empty this day.”
They sat in the glow of the last bit of oil,
The wick trimmed to barely alight,
Naomi was thinking of Boaz her kin,
To appeal him to lessen their plight.
“Let me glean in the fields, as widows may do
By your law,” Ruth implored her consent,
“Go ahead then, my daughter,” Naomi replied,
“Gather sheaves – the Lord bless your intent.”
The barley bent ripe in the afternoon sun,
Sickles flashed, parting stalk from the earth,
The sheavers, they gathered, the poor ones they bent
To collect what was deemed little worth.
Ruth straightened a moment, uncurling her back
Returned to her worked, but not missed
By the eyes of the landowner, seated above
On his stallion, “What woman is this?”
He inquired of his foreman, who promptly replied
“It’s the Moabite woman come back
With Naomi -- she asked, “let me glean in your fields,” --
She works steadily, showing no slack.”
Boaz swung ‘round, and the flash of the sun
On the flank of his steed caught Ruth’s eye.
With her hand shielding glare, she looked on, as he rode
With great ease, halting just at her side.
“My, daughter, glean only in fields that are mine,
With my servant girls, follow along,
To the men I have ordered they leave you alone,
Go and drink, when you need, from what’s drawn.”
At this, she bowed low, with her face to the ground,
“For your favor, Lord, what have I done?
I am lower than one of your lowliest girls,
And a foreigner, browned by the sun.”
“I have heard of your kindness to one of my kin,
Toward Naomi, whose home is your own,
How you left both your mother and father to live
With a people that you’ve never known.
Come share with me now of the afternoon meal,”
He offered her more than her need,
She ate and she saved for Naomi the rest,
Then returned to his fields to glean.
“Don’t humble this woman, wherever she gleans,
Leave her more than you usually do,
Don’t speak to her harshly,” he ordered his men,
“Or, the Lord deal harshly with you.”
She gleaned until evening and measured her toil
By the twenty-two liters she gained
She gave this and what she had saved from her meal
To Naomi, who greatly exclaimed,
“Whose field is this, by what man are we blessed
To have profited by this amount?
By Boaz? Lord bless him! A kinsman of mine –
A redeemer – a man of account!”
“Yes, he told me – “ Return to my field again,
Remain until harvest is done” --
“It is good! You’ll remain with his women – no harm
Will befall you – his favor you’ve won.”
So the harvest was finished, the barley and wheat
Lay in heaps for the threshing was nigh,
Naomi was thinking to find Ruth a home,
Find a husband with means to provide,
Then she spoke to her, “Daughter, perfume your dark skin,
Dress to please, then go down to the floor,
Where the threshers lay after their meal and their wine,
Go to Boaz, but don’t go before
He has finished his dining and chosen a place
To retire, then quietly you
Will uncover his feet and lay down by your lord,
He will tell you what you are to do.”
[I]Oh, Lord, by a harlot he came to this world,
You have blessed him by Rahab, your maid,
Bless this servant girl, Ruth, as she humbles herself,
Now to Boaz [I], she fervently prayed.
“Whatever you say, I will do,” and Ruth did,
It was silent and stars broke the sky,
As she made her way through Bethlehem’s winding streets
To the threshing floor, where she would lie,
Hoping grace would befall her from Boaz’s hand,
That his kindness to her would prevail,
Or, ashamed, she’d return when her purpose was done,
Face Naomi, and tell her she’d failed.
All was quiet within, while she waited outside
Noting Boaz and where he had lain,
They had finished their feasting and chosen their beds
From the sounds of sleep, she ascertained,
That the moment had come to accomplish her faith
In the plan that Naomi conceived,
Would he want her, a Moabite woman by birth,
Poor and fruitless, a widow, bereaved?
When the shadows are deepest, and dawn but a thought,
Something startled the man from his sleep,
Boaz peered to where warmth met his skin and called out
in a low voice, “Who’s there at my feet?”
“It is I, Ruth, your servant -- Lord, spread over me,
Just the edge of your garment to say,
As a Kinsman-Redeemer, that I may be blessed,
To become your maid-servant this day.”
“Oh, Ruth, the Lord bless you,” he gently replied,
“Fair of face and of noble renown,
Any young man you chose would have fought for your love,
To an old man you offer this crown.
I will do for you all that you ask,” he then vowed,
“yet a kinsman still nearer exists,
Who may want to redeem you himself -- it’s his right --
I’ll approach him tomorrow with this.
If he blesses you, good – that is how it must be –
If he doesn’t, the joy will be mine,
For your honor is known in the gates of this town,
To redeem you, I vow we’ll be joined.
Lay down, Ruth; when morning approaches, depart,
No one need know a woman’s been here.”
In the soft gray of dawn, with her shawl full of grain,
Boaz watched as her form disappeared.
The day suffered hot, as the men of the town,
Took their business and wisdom to seat,
In the shadow of walls thickly pressed to the Gate,
While the incoming spilled through the streets.
Seated, Boaz looked ‘round for the man whom he sought,
Keeping watch ‘til at last he was found,
Then he gathered ten others, and asked them to wait,
Asked his kinsman to kindly sit down.
“There’s a parcel of land that’s available now
For redemption – Elimelech’s lot --
It’s for sale by Naomi, returned from Moab
I’m suggesting you purchase -- if not --
I will buy it myself, but the first right is yours,
I’m next in the line, after you…”
“I’ll buy it,” he said. “There’s just one other thing…”
Boaz mentioned, “…the lot includes Ruth --
She’s the Moabite widow of Mahlon, you know --
The descendants you give her will own
Any right to the land, in her dead husband’s name...”
“Well,” the kinsman rescindingly toned,
“I’m concerned at the risk to my own estate then,
You redeem her – I really cannot.”
It was done; it was sealed by exchanging of shoes,
In the presence of witnesses bought
By the vow of a kinsman and blessed by the men,
Many children they wished him by Ruth.
If they’d known that the line of the Savior, they’d sealed
They’d have shouted atop of the roofs.
So Boaz went home and he gathered his bride,
She conceived and she bore him a son,
To Naomi, the women of Bethlehem said,
“God has blessed you, oh much favored one,
To be loved by a daughter who’s better to you
Than seven more sons might have been,
From her womb -- name him Obed -- because of her love,
May his name through the country ascend.”
In her lap lay the father of Jesse that day,
Tiny limbs, trembled, waving the air,
For Naomi, a grandson -- but one day a king,
Would descend from the babe lying there,
Who would rule over Israel, having a heart
Like the heart of his God, David’s name
Would ascend through the country, establish the line
Through which Jesus, the Christ, Savior came.