Эдит Матильда Томас (Edith Matilda Thomas)

The Christmas Sheaf

           Provençal

    It was a gleaner in the fields,--
      The fields gleaned long ago:
    The evening wind swept down from heights
      Already brushed with snow.

    The gleaner turned to right, to left,
      With searching steps forlorn;
    The stubble-blade beneath her feet
      Was sharp as any thorn.

    But as she stooped, and as she searched,
      Half blind with gathering tears,
    Beside her in the field stood One
      Whose voice beguiled her fears:

    "What seek ye here, this bitter eve,
      The harvest long gone by?"
    She lifted up her weary face,
      She answered with a sigh:

    "I seek but some few heads of wheat
      To nail against the wall,
    To feed at morn the blessed birds,
      When with loud chirps they call.

    "Poor ever have I been, God knows!
      Yet ne'er so poor before,
    But they might taste their glad Noël
      Beside my cottage door."

    Then answer made that Presence sweet,
      "Go home, and trust right well
    The birds beside your cottage door
      Shall find their glad Noël."

    And so it was--from soundest sleep
      The gleaner woke at morn,
    To see, nailed up beside her door,
      A sheaf of golden corn!

    And thereupon the birds did feast,--
      The birds from far and wide:
    All know it was Our Lord Himself
      That goodly sheaf supplied!

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