Verse 1
Weary gleaner, whence comest thou,
With empty hands and clouded brow?
Plodding along thy lonely way,
Tell me, where hast thou gleaned to-day?
Late I found a barren field,
The harvest past my search revealed,
Others golden sheaves had gained,
Only stubble for me remained.
Chorus
Forth to the harvest field away!
Gather your handfuls while you may;
All day long in the field abide,
Gleaning close by the reapers’ side.
Verse 2
Careful gleaner, what hast thou there?
These faded flowers and leaflets sere?
Hungry and thirsty, tell me, pray,
Where, oh, where hast thou gleaned to-day?
I’ve gaily sought earth’s fairest flowers,
Now, alas! too late I see
All I’ve gathered is vanity.
Verse 3
Burdened gleaner, thy sheaves I see;
Indeed thou must a-weary be!
Stay me not, till day is done
I’ve gather’d handfuls one by one;
Close by the reapers I’ve found them all.