Chapter XXVIII The Camp Fire
Ruth the Toiler
There is that quiet in her face
That comes to all who toil.
She moves through all the sheaves with grace
A daughter of the soil.
There is that beauty in her hands,
That glory in her hair,
That adds a warmth to sun-brown lands
When Autumn cools the air.
There is that gladness in her eyes,
As one who finds the dust
A lovely path to Paradise,
And common things august
There is that reverence in her mood,
That patience sweet and broad,
As one who in the solitude
Yet walks the fields with God!
—Edward Wilbur Mason.