Chapter 7

SECTION I.

History of Domestic Life most instructive--Book of Ruth--Sketch of the Family of Elimelech while residing in Moab--Reflections arising out of a View of their Circumstances--Naomi's Resolution to return, and that of her Daughters-in-law to accompany her--Orpah soon quits her Mother and Sister--Her Character, and that of Ruth--Requirements of Religion-- Arrival of Naomi and Ruth at Bethlehem--feelings of the Former.

Domestic life furnishes the most attractive and the most instructive species of history. If it do not present an equal diversity of incident with the narratives of rising or falling empires, in whose mighty concerns every passion of human nature is interested, it possesses the superior advantage of "coming home to men's business and bosoms."

The scene of _general history_ is frequently placed in a region which, to the great proportion of mankind, is inaccessible; and however we may admire its principal actors, they seldom furnish examples capable of being exhibited for imitation. The sphere in which they moved is so totally different, so far remote from that in which our duty usually lies, that the knowledge of their achievements can conduce but little, to the great purposes of practical improvement. The story of _private life_ possesses a very different character; we are at once introduced to our _own_ sphere; and although it may relate to a class in society either very much inferior or superior in point of station to ourselves, it necessarily brings into review relations which we all sustain, situations we have all to occupy, and duties we have all to discharge. Whether, therefore, a princess or a peasant be the principal actor, the central point round which every circumstance revolves, and from which it derives interest and distinction, it claims and will repay our serious attention.

Independently of these general considerations, the history of Ruth, in connection with that of Naomi and Orpah, has been always regarded as singularly interesting: it is a most pathetic tale, illustrative of the operation of the tenderest of the domestic affections, in unison with genuine religion: it exhibits the most artless simplicity of manners, the most virtuous sensibilities, and the most affecting interpositions of Providence. It is at once romantic and true, sublime and simple, marvellous and natural: it constitutes, moreover, a connecting link in the great chain of providence, and an important incident in the history of redemption.

The sacred book, which derives its name from RUTH, was in all probability written by Samuel: this is the concurrent opinion of Jews and Christians. It may be considered as supplementary to the book of Judges, an introductory to the history of David, whose descent from Judah through Pharez is distinctly traced in the genealogy of Boaz.

According to Jewish tradition, Ruth was of the royal race of Moab, a nation descended from Lot, and settled on the borders of the salt sea in the confines of Judah. She married Mahlon, the son of Elimelech, who lived in Moab in consequence of a famine which prevailed in Judea. After his death, relying on the promises made to the tribe of Judah, to which her husband belonged, she became a proselyte; and thus the Holy Spirit, by recording the adoption of a Gentile woman into that family from which the Messiah was to descend, might intend to intimate the comprehensive design of the Christian dispensation. "It must be remarked also, that in the estimation of the Jews it was disgraceful to David to have derived his birth from a Moabitess; and Shimei, in his revilings against him, is supposed by the Jews to have tauntingly reflected on his descent from Ruth. This book, therefore, contains an intrinsic proof of its own verity, inasmuch as it records a circumstance so little flattering to the sovereign of Israel [19]; and it is scarcely necessary to appeal to its admission into the canon of Scripture for a testimony of its authentic character; or to mention that the evangelists, in describing our Saviour's descent, follow its genealogical accounts." [20]

[Sidenote: Years before Christ, about 1818] This book commences with a statement of the calamitous situation of Israel in consequence of a famine, one of those messengers of divine displeasure sometimes commissioned to scourge a guilty land, and chastise them into obedience. Elimelech, a resident in Bethlehem-Judah, was compelled, probably with many others, to quit his beloved home, and seek a temporary subsistence in the country of Moab, which, although favoured at this time with the blessings of temporal prosperity and abundance, was destitute of those religious means, without which, in the view of a good man, Eden would lose its charms, and life its value. He took with him his wife Naomi and his two sons Mahlon and Chilion; and, under the guidance of that Providence which once tamed the lions and restrained the fires of Chaldea, found an asylum in the bosom of Israel's enemies.

In this exile, a family so ancient and reputable sunk into such degradation excites our compassion; still more so, when in tracing their adventurous history, we find them assaulted by new forms of sorrow and calamity. Elimelech dies, and Naomi is left with her two sons. The young men afterward marry, the one Orpah, the other Ruth, both natives of Moab. It seems as though the disconsolate widow were beginning to dry up her tears, and to rebuild her fallen house by those matrimonial alliances which tended to naturalize them in the country; but whether the use of these idolatrous materials was displeasing to God, or whether it was deemed requisite to detach the mind of Naomi, by repeated afflictions, from a soil in which her affections were becoming too deeply rooted, her two sons also died in a few years, and the three females were left to grapple with adversity alone. The original state and character of the young women is uncertain, but they became proselytes to the Jewish religion. They might have become so previously to their union with their now departed husbands, whom, if the sacred narrative had been more detailed and minute, we might possibly have had occasion to applaud for their pious discrimination, rather than to censure or suspect for impropriety of conduct; at least, under all the circumstances, we are by no means justified in severe animadversions upon their choice. But, whatever might have been their intentions, the Supreme Disposer was working with a wise but mysterious secrecy, to promote his designs which were linked with a succession of events extending to far distant generations. Poor Naomi! how desolate thy condition! how deep thy depression! Wave after wave rolls over thy defenceless head! And yet, where is the human being to whom no comforts are left? Thy daughters remain, and even if they had been removed, thy pious spirit would not have sorrowed over their graves, as one that has no hope! Thy religion has supplied thee with sources of consolation unknown to the world, and indestructible by calamity, time, or death--"The eternal God is thy refuge," "and underneath are the everlasting arms."

The rapid changes in this family cannot fail to remind us of the instability of earthly possessions and enjoyments; nor ought we to forget the wisdom and the goodness of that divine superintendence, which holds all these changes in subserviency to his will. How impressive is the language of inspiration, "we all do fade as a leaf;"--and how illustrative of the present tragical history! When the sun of summer beams upon the growing landscape, and, ascending some eminence, you survey the valleys covered over with corn, the hills adorned with verdure, the trees bending their abundant foliage to the gale, the flowers in "yellow meads of asphodel and amaranthine bowers," perfuming the air with their odours, you seem for a moment to inhabit regions of enchantment and perpetual beauty. A month or two intervenes--you reascend your former elevation, once more to feast the senses--to admire and adore the Dispenser of these blessings--but O how faded! The bright beams of the sun are shrouded in a wintry cloud--the corn has disappeared--the flocks retire--the trees are bereft of their foliage--the flowers lie scattered on the ground. Such, such is human life; thus we and our families fade! to-day in vigour--to-morrow in dust! Where are generations past? where are our ancestors? where our immediate predecessors? where our early associates, and many of the individuals that have enlivened our social hours in maturer life? Like the leaves which cluster on the ground in autumn, and almost obstruct the path of the traveller, they seem to have dropped in quick succession, and to lie in faded heaps on the road that leads into eternity. And, alas! with an indifference too nearly resembling that which is apparent in the unheeding passenger, who tramples autumnal foliage beneath his feet, we tread on the graves of departed ages, and neglect to imitate the example of the pious dead.

Pause and reflect, "we _all_ do fade." Whatever our circumstances or connections, the inevitable dominion of death extends over all. The leaves may occupy a higher or a lower station on the tree, they may be suspended on the loftiest or the lowliest branches--but they _all_ drop off; and we may be rich or poor, learned or illiterate, young or old, the house of the grave is "appointed for _all _ living." Providence in mercy permits the union of families long to remain unbroken; and, at length, in _mercy_ too--whatever the suggestions of despondency--dissolves it. The parent expires, and the children follow; till, perhaps, the _name_ only survives, like a tree bared to the storm of winter thrown down by the blast, and at length rotting into dust.

Mournfully fascinating, however, and instructing as these considerations appear, they must not divert us longer from the narrative. Naomi, at the distance of ten years, cherished a constant anxiety respecting what passed in Israel; and, weaned by repeated trials, if not still more so by Moabitish idolatry, from her present situation, she heard with pleasure, "that the Lord had visited his people, in giving them bread:" upon which she determined to return, and take her two daughters-in-law with her into Judea. This secondary kindred often proves a source of the most unhappy jealousies and animosities in domestic life, but the harmony in which these women lived, and with which they concerted measures for their removal, indicated at least the goodness of all their dispositions. They were, besides, in equal distress. Affliction, in almost every form, is beneficial in its tendency; and nothing is more calculated to strengthen mutual attachment than common calamity.

How often is distress, similar to this, aggravated by unkindness! Moroseness on the one part, and undutifulness on the other, excite the mother-in-law against the daughter-in-law, and the daughter-in-law against the mother-in-law; whereas reason, religion, and even self-love, require a different conduct. The poverty of Naomi was no objection to Orpah and Ruth to accompany her in her departure from Moab; but at once, abandoning every minor or selfish consideration, they prepared to attend her unprotected way. They would not suffer her to drink alone of the bitter cup, but resolved to encourage her by sharing it.

A bitter cup indeed it was. Who can imagine, without a painful sympathy, the situation of three friendless women, each a widow, and quitting a country where they left behind so many sad recollections! There they had lost the dearest of earthly connections, who, had they been preserved to this hour, would have soothed their sorrows, sustained their spirits, and accompanied their journey! The voice of parental and conjugal tenderness was silent in the grave! Their natural timidity had no shelter--their tears were wiped away by no kind hand--their steps were supported by no sustaining arm--the world was a barren wilderness before them--they seemed to be alone, as after a ship-wreck--and they had no immediate refuge but in themselves, and--for there was still another hope, an observant friend, a helper to the needy in his distress--in GOD!

Having proceeded a short distance, Naomi, overwhelmed with a sense of the disinterested kindness of her daughters-in-law, even more than with her own affliction, begged them to leave her, and return to their respective homes. She adverts to their past amiable and affectionate conduct; and severe as parting would prove to her maternal heart, she wished them still to be happy in the Sand of their nativity. Commending them to the benediction of the God of Israel, and expressing her desire for their happiness in the formation of future connections, "she kissed them" in token of a long and last farewell.

What fondness and what agony blended in that embrace! What a separation! It was no moment for words; the lovely daughters could only weep! A thousand past endearments recurred to their memory, a thousand uncertainties springing from the bosom of futurity, presented themselves to their minds. They had cherished a mutual esteem--they were blended into one in feeling, in interest, in all that can render life desirable. Their dark path had hitherto been enlightened by the beam of affection;--and was the sun to set upon their day for ever?

Alas! what a land of mourning is this! what heart-rending separations are we called to experience on earth; and what an hour of parting from the tenderest of connexions will soon arrive, when, death interposing his authority to break the ties of nature and of friendship, we must bid adieu to those who would indeed gladly accompany us, but _must_ survive to walk alone in the wilderness.

We are, however, attributing too much to this formidable power. He may break the ties of nature--but he cannot dissolve the union of _Christian_ friendship. The pious shall meet again in a region uninfested by malignity, and where the long annals of everlasting ages shall record no day of separation, and no instance of death.

It was kind, it was disinterested, it was maternal, in Naomi to propose this parting; but they were not to be persuaded. As soon as tears permitted utterance, they exclaimed, "Surely we will return with _thee_ unto _thy_ people."--"We have taken our resolution, and cannot depart from it. To go _with_ thee is indeed a trial--but to go _from_ thee is incalculably worse. Thou shall not be forsaken. We will be inseparable." Naomi remonstrated, and kindly repeated her commands. She called them _daughters_, an appellation they had well merited by their ardent and unabated attachment, earnestly entreating them to "turn again; and" intimating that they could not reasonably entertain a hope of her having sons whom they might marry, and therefore they could not accompany her without detriment to themselves. She was afflicted at the idea of their being widows in the days of their youth; and especially that, for her sake, they should continue in so solitary a condition, voluntarily resigning to her comfort the joys of connubial love.

Again they wept--but from this moment, Orpah and Ruth take a different course. The former fails in her resolution, embraces her mother-in-law, and returns; the latter "cleaves to her," and remains the solitary example of unconquerable affection, the heroine of the future narrative.

In the character of Orpah, we perceive an exemplification of that imperfect obedience which characterizes those who have been induced to pay some degree of attention to the gospel of Christ, but who have been influenced by certain subordinate motives to retrace their steps. She contemplated future poverty with alarm, and cannot be exculpated from a charge of secretly preferring the service of Chemosh, the Moabitish god, to the service of Jehovah. Her affection for Naomi had, perhaps, induced her hitherto to dissemble; and though she persevered to a considerable extent, when the final resolution was to be taken, she paused--hesitated --trembled--and drew back. She could not part with _all_ for this service. In the days of Christ, many treated him with respect, listened to his words, admired, and like the young ruler, even wished to become his follower, but excited the best hopes only to disappoint them. Happy, thrice happy, they who take up the cross, and follow him through much tribulation; nobly resisting the allurements of the world, the demands of earthly friendship, and even the interdictions of human authority, for the sake of Christ and his gospel! The martyr's _crown_ awaits them, for they display the martyr's _spirit_.

At a superficial glance, the address of Naomi to Ruth, upon this occasion, seems altogether extraordinary; "Behold, thy sister-in-law is gone back unto her people, and unto her gods; return thou after thy sister-in-law." Did she then really wish to urge this young widow to imitate the conduct of her sister, not only in returning to her relations, but to the service of the gods of Moab? Whatever opinion she entertained of her daughter-in-law's piety, could she really be desirous of placing her in circumstances of such temptation and danger? This supposition would be at least uncharitable, and contradicts probability. It was rather a trial of her sincerity in religion, and an evidence of her determination to use no compulsory measures, not even maternal influence, to coerce her conscience. Her language was, besides, premonitory and warning, similar to the permission given to Balaam, who though apparently admonished to go and curse Israel, was really interdicted.

Ruth received the appeal in a manner worthy of her character, and the most satisfactory to Naomi. "Entreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee; for whither thou goest I will go, and where thou lodgest, I will lodge; thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God. Where thou diest will I die, and there will I be buried: the Lord do so to me and more also, if aught but death part thee and me." If the pious origin of this attachment were not sufficiently apparent, we should be tempted to call it romantic; but founded as it was in religion, we must contemplate it as a rare specimen of a perfection in friendship, scarcely ever attained in the cold and chilling atmosphere of this world. Nothing could have so ripened and matured it, but the beamings of heavenly love, which rendered even an unfriendly soil productive of so choice a fruit.

Notwithstanding the indigent circumstances of Naomi, her daughter-in-law persisted in accompanying her, and thus voluntarily chose affliction with the people of God in preference to hereditary affluence and distinction. With deliberate resolution, and persevering consistency, she adhered to her purpose, calculating upon all the inconveniences that might result, but not fearing them. She turned her back upon the glory of the world, neither dreading its frowns nor soliciting its patronage. She knew that she could live happily without human applause, but not without divine approbation. Her early prejudices were subdued by principle, and she felt no hesitation in discarding the gods of Moab to procure the love of the God of Israel. In fact she _did_ choose the path of true honour and renown. The servant of God is the greatest character in the universe, and will eventually be exalted to a situation which will fully and for ever disclose the perfect nothingness of terrestrial glory, and the shadowy nature of all that mortals have been deluded to imagine substantial.

This part of the history may serve to suggest the beneficial inquiry, whether we habitually cherish an equal zeal for our religion, with that which this young Moabitess manifested? It would be easy to descant upon the superiority of our advantages, and to urge our increased responsibility; but do we equal her in the firmness of our faith, and the steadfastness of our profession? It may not be a question, whether we are likely to be called to similar or equal trials; but the most important consideration is, whether through the grace of God we stand prepared for _whatever_ trials await us in the path of duty; and whether, with fewer difficulties and greater advantages, we at least display an equal decision of character? We have Sabbaths--do we keep them? We have Bibles--do we read them? We have religious and social opportunities--do we improve them? We have pious friends--do we, like Ruth, cleave to them? Do we come out from the world, and are we separate, saying to the church of Christ, and adhering to our purpose, "We will go with you, for we have heard that God is with you?" Association is a test of character. The companion exhibits the man.

Candour and sincerity may be recommended from this example, as the best policy. We should not be ashamed of our religion: an open avowal, like that of Ruth, which prevented any farther importunity to return to the idolatries of Moab, is calculated to prevent a thousand perplexities into which the wavering, the timid, and the dissembling, inevitably fall. Persons of this description fail in every respect. They dissatisfy both parties, sacrifice their own peace of mind, and incur all the pains, without securing any of the pleasures of genuine piety. Hesitating between a sense of duty and an inclination to sin, trembling amidst conflicting attractions and opposing interests, they never attain to dignity of character or repose of spirit. They lie at the mercy of every foe, of every passion, of every change. Without the pilotage of principle, they know not what course to take, and are every moment in danger of a fatal wreck. "He that wavereth is like a wave of the sea, driven with the wind and tossed! ... A double-minded man is unstable in all his ways."

It is unquestionably a duty devolving on all who believe in Christ, to "confess him;" and to this candid avowal he has himself attached, not only the purest felicities on earth, but the honour of a public acknowledgment of their persons and services before assembled ages in the day of judgment, together with a final admission into the paradise of his presence. It is indeed criminal to profess attachment to him when we do not feel it, and it is also highly improper to cherish such an attachment without daring to avow it. If the former must be characterized as hypocrisy, the latter cannot be exculpated from the charge of sinful timidity; if the one be presumptuous boldness, the other is unholy fear.

To avow our principles, on all suitable occasions, with unshrinking firmness, is essential to integrity, and distinctly claimed by religion. The worldly motives which influenced some of the chief rulers in the days of our Lord, if not to disavow, at least to withhold their public concurrence with his doctrines, are mentioned in the gospel to their everlasting dishonour. They are not exhibited as specimens of violent hostility, but of that spirit of neutrality which resulted from political feelings, and which, being no less deemed a real enmity, will receive its appropriate condemnation. "Nevertheless, among the chief rulers also many believed on him; but because of the Pharisees they did not confess him, lest they should be put out of the synagogue. For they loved the praise of men more than the praise of God."

This kind of preference seems to be the result of strange infatuation, the origin of which demands a serious inquiry. In part, it may be accounted for from the impression which sensible and near objects produce on the mind, in comparison with those which are less obvious and more distant. Visible things attract attention, while those which are invisible, being placed beyond the sphere of sense, remain unnoticed. An object which is really greater, appears less when it is more remote. Eternity seems, in human estimation, extremely distant; its crown of glory afar off; all the possessions of the New Jerusalem disappear from view, when covered with the mists of futurity. We are easily affected by loud applauses, gay scenes, and temporal good. The secret whispers of an approving conscience are less audible, the smiles of God less perceptible to a depraved and earthly mind. In addition to which, temporal inconveniences or dangers are frequently connected with a conduct which secures the approbation of God; a criminal apprehension of which produces indifference and distaste for religion. When the choice lies between shame, poverty, affliction, the sacrifice of worldly interest, and even death itself in the one balance--and temporal distinction, affluence, ease, advancement, in the other--many will hesitate, with Agrippa, few determine, with Moses. In the present history one was taken, the other left. The experiment has been since sufficiently tried upon a large scale, and proofs are perpetually accumulating, that the temper and conduct of Orpah were coincident with those of the great majority in the world.

The narrative of the journey to the place of Naomi's early residence, is comprised in one short sentence; "So they two went until they came to Bethlehem." We are left in ignorance of those circumstances which curiosity would wish to explore in so remarkable a removal. Who can doubt, that in a distance of at least one hundred and twenty miles over mountains and rivers, these female travellers, unprotected, friendless, on foot, and seeking day by day a precarious assistance from the wild luxuriancy of nature, or the occasional hospitality of the stranger, must have encountered repeated perils, and often deemed themselves irretrievably lost. But there was an eye that watched them, of whose observance they were not ignorant; an arm that protected them, on whose powerful support they leaned by faith, and leaned not in vain. _He_ can never be destitute who has _God_ for his father; _he_ can never be lost, in whatever region he wanders, who has _God_ for his guide! In the adventurous journey of life take his proffered aid, ye children of adversity! repose in his goodness, having committed your way to him, ye widowed mourners! while God is on his throne, ye cannot inhabit a fatherless world, ye cannot be destitute of efficient aid! "A Father of the fatherless, and a Judge of the widows, is God in his holy habitation."

In a small town, like Bethlehem, the arrival of these strangers would naturally awaken inquiry. After an absence of ten years, the inhabitants probably never expected to see Naomi again. Such is the vicissitude of human affairs, that within a few years many strange mutations occur, even in places of no great extent. Of her former friends or acquaintances, some were, no doubt, consigned to the grave; and her own appearance and circumstances were so altered since her departure, that the voice of friendship, the congratulation of love, seems to have subsided into the idle language of wonderment, "Is this Naomi?"

_It is_--but the mention of her name is a caustic to the wounds of her heart. The endearments attached to that beloved and significant appellation are fled with departed time, and Bethlehem no longer beholds her in a situation to command respect, to excite envy, or to purchase attention. Her husband, her children, are no more!--one, one only comfort remains--one friend, one solace in adversity--one ray of light in the dark hour! Amidst universal desertion, RUTH has not forsaken her; but is become her joy in sorrow, her companion in solitude, her prop in decrepit age! Can we wonder that she wishes to discard a name which awakened such recollections, and only recalled the _dream_ of happiness? "Call me not _Naomi_,--call me _Mara_; for the Almighty hath dealt very bitterly with me. I went out full, and the Lord hath brought me home again empty; why then call ye me _Naomi_, seeing the Lord hath testified against me, and the Almighty hath afflicted me?"

There is something in these words which charity requires us to excuse. If, under the peculiar circumstances in which she was at present placed, the name of NAOMI, which signifies _pleasant_, distracted her, and she wished rather to adopt that of Mara, importing _bitterness_, her impatience must not be interpreted in the worst sense. After long absence, it is natural to anticipate a return home, and a rush of joy pervades even unfeeling minds, when the spire of their native _village_, the smoke of their native _hamlet_, especially the roof of their native _cottage_, first strikes upon the sight. Friends, family, neighbours, early scenes and pleasures, recur with a force which gives the air of enchantment to the long-lost scene. But every feeling of this nature was, in the case of Naomi, checked by different associations; the darkness of the sepulchre converted this day into midnight, and this lovely spot into a desolate wilderness!

There is, moreover, something in Naomi's remonstrance, which sympathy would lead as to pity, and experience, in some degree, to blame. She commits an evident mistake in attributing the dispensations she had suffered, to a _testimony against her_ on the part of the supreme Disposer. Viewing past events through the discolouring medium of present affliction, and incapable of perceiving their secret and concurrent design, she forms a conclusion, which is rather the effect of temporary depression of mind, than of a settled conviction of judgment. We cannot doubt, indeed that the impression was evanescent; but it seems allied to that of the impatient patriarch, who exclaimed, "All these things are against me." _That_ eminent servant of God enjoyed the privilege of living to a period in which the divine purposes were fully developed, and of seeing that what he deemed hostile circumstances, were really conducive to the most wise and felicitous results. Had Jacob departed during the interval, and while the mysterious plan was yet unaccomplished, his grey hairs would have gone down with sorrow to the grave, and the cloud of mystery would have been suspended over his dying hour. Such is the usual lot of the righteous. Life, in general, does not afford a space sufficiently ample, a period sufficiently protracted, for the complete execution of the great purposes of Infinite Goodness with regard to our real interests; and we murmur, because we cannot penetrate his arrangements. Patience, however, should be supported by the consideration that either in this, or in a future state of existence, the day of satisfactory explanation will arrive.

But there is a sentiment pervading the whole of this appeal, which, notwithstanding its partial defects, piety must warmly approve. Every thing is imputed to "the Lord." Naomi sees his hand in whatever occurrence she has witnessed. To him she imputes the fulness of her prosperity, and the emptiness of her adversity. In _every_ change, in _every_ place, she beholds and bows, to the ALMIGHTY. When this is happily the prevailing sentiment, the storm of angry passions will soon subside, the murmurings of discontent cease, and the clear shining of comfort break forth from behind the cloud.

"The Lord God omnipotent reigneth." This is enough! Angels and blessed spirits shall not monopolize the strain of gratitude and acknowledgment. Mortal voices shall join immortal harps, saying, "HALLELUJAH!"

SECTION II.

Time of the Return to Bethlehem--Ruth offers to go and glean--Dispositions indicated by this proposal--she happens upon the Field of Boaz--his Kindness--their Conversation--additional Favours--Ruth's return Home--Her Mother-in-law's wish to connect her in Marriage with Boaz--the Measures she suggests, and which her daughter adopts with ultimate Success--their Marriage--Birth of a Son--concluding Remarks,

Tales of fictitious wo, and of splendid distress, may alone be capable of fascinating those who recline on the lap of luxury, and who seek amusement, without soliciting instruction; but, among persons who possess any taste for genuine simplicity, any delight in the sacred employment of tracing the operations of infinite wisdom in the works of Providence, any desire for their own mental and spiritual improvement, and who have not yet learned of dissipated folly to despise

"The short and simple annals of the poor;"

the remaining circumstances of the narrative introduced into the preceding chapter, cannot fail of exciting interest.

That God, who promised Noah, that "while the earth remaineth, seed-time and harvest, and cold and heat, and summer and winter, and day and night, shall not cease;" and who "visits the earth and waters it, greatly enriching it with the river of God which is full of water, and prepares them corn when he has so provided for it;" having at this period dispensed fertility to the fields of Bethlehem, the humble travellers from Moab chose, or rather, were appointed by a superior influence to return in the season of barley-harvest. This was probably at the commencement of the month of May. [21]

But whither shall the wretched fugitives turn for assistance and support? It was indeed a time of plenty, but they were in extreme poverty. Golden harvests waved around them, but having no fields to reap, they were sorrowful amidst universal gladness, and depended upon precarious means of subsistence.

Ruth proposed to her mother-in-law to allow her to go and glean in any field where she could obtain the permission of the proprietor; to which Naomi readily consented. _As_ a Moabite, she was probably ignorant, that what she regarded as a _favour_, was bestowed upon the needy as a _right_ by the God of Israel. "When thou cuttest down thine harvest in thy field, and hast forgot a sheaf in the field, thou shall not go again to fetch it: it shall be for the stranger, for the fatherless, and for the widow; that the Lord thy God may bless thee in all the work of thine hands." This law is more than once repeated, and Ruth had a peculiar claim upon the liberality of its provisions, as uniting all the three species of wretchedness in her individual case. She was indeed a _stranger_, an _orphan_, and a _widow_.

The proposal of Ruth upon this occasion is, in many respects, illustrative of her estimable character. It furnishes a specimen of that _respectful treatment_ which is due from the younger relative, to those whom venerable age and long experience have rendered their superiors. She would do nothing without Naomi; but consults her wishes, and seeks her concurrence in attempting to procure subsistence by means which she deemed the best adapted to their present poverty. A churlish temper would have submitted with extreme reluctance, and many taunting reproaches to what might easily have been represented as the drudgery and degradation of the gleaner's field; but this excellent daughter-in-law displayed a spirit most worthy of imitation.

Her _reflecting kindness_ may be recommended to the notice of the inconsiderate and unfeeling. Offering herself to the laborious but necessary service, she is far from hinting any wish that Naomi should either accompany her to the field, or take measures to spare her, by seeking the aid of her richer relations, or the casual contributions of others. She wished to extend her support to the wearied and decaying nature of her beloved relative, and to use every possible exertion to alleviate her anxieties, to minister to her comfort, and to assist her infirmity. "Let _me_ now go to the field." Amiable, generous, kindhearted woman! Thou wert anxious to procure for thy poor, afflicted, aged mother, all the repose which her advanced life seemed to require, to wipe away the tear from her dimmed eye and farrowed cheek, and as far as possible, to dissipate the clouds that hovered about the setting beam of her earthly existence!

If there be one scene of domestic life pre-eminently attractive, it is that of a lovely daughter manifesting a promptitude and zeal to alleviate the sorrows, and to aid the weekness of a parent, by those nameless and numberless assiduities which bespeak a genuine affection. Her own works praise her, and the mere flatterer's tongue is awed into respectful silence. How deplorable is it to witness the impatience of some young persons who think every little exertion an insufferable effort, a trouble, and a fatigue; and who forget the maternal fondness which cherished their infancy, the wakefulness that guarded their sickness, the love that never slept.

As Ruth was characterized by a virtuous sensibility, the proposal she made distinguished her also as _active and industrious_. Although her mother-in-law was advanced in years, she being in the vigour of her days, determined to devote her health and strength to procure subsistence. She did not waste her time in complaining, or sit down in a state of inactive despondency; but was alive to the duties of her lowly station. The poorest individual, who cheerfully fulfils his obligations, and exerts himself by an honest industry to maintain himself and his family, is inexpressibly more respectable in a wise man's estimation, than pampered luxury lolling on the couch of indulgence, and dreaming away existence in slothfulness and pomp. Real worth unquestionably consists in the proper occupation of that sphere, whatever it may be, which Providence has assigned us: and that person who is "not slothful in business," but "fervent in spirit, serving the Lord," secures the esteem of the good, and what is infinitely more important, the approbation of God. Idleness is no less a perversion of the designs of nature, than detrimental to our personal happiness. It not only renders its unhappy devotees useless to society, but burthensome to themselves. All beings, through every gradation of existence, from the toiling emmet to the flaming angel, are formed for activity and exertion. Nor ought we, who are privileged to live under the Christian dispensation, to forget, that Jesus Christ himself, by his humble appearance and lowly occupation, as the Son of a carpenter, has elevated honest industry to a just and honourable distinction.

Accidentally, so far as related to herself, Ruth went and gleaned in the field of Boaz; but she was guided by an invisible hand. This proprietor was a man of great opulence, and a relative of Naomi. Coming from Bethlehem to his reapers, and having exchanged their mutual salutations according to the pious custom of the times, [22] he inquired of the superintendent, or steward, the name of the young woman he observed gleaning amongst the sheaves. Ruth, it appears, attracted his particular notice. Even a superficial reader might be struck with the astonishing providential coincidences in this story; and nothing but the most perverse infidelity can refuse to admit, that the God who had conducted this interesting widow from Moab to Bethlehem, and from Bethlehem into the field of the reapers, guided the steps and awakened the solicitude of Boaz on this occasion.

"And the servant that was set over the reapers answered and said, It is the Moabitish damsel that came back with Naomi out of the country of Moab. And she said, I pray you let me glean and gather after the reapers among the sheaves; so she came, and hath continued even from the morning until now, that she tarried a little in the house." The rich are frequently reluctant to acknowledge their poor connections, and in the great majority of instances, a discovery like this would rather have averted than conciliated the regards of an affluent proprietor from the humble individual he found to be the daughter-in-law of his indigent relative. Superior, however, to unwarrantable prejudices and ridiculous vanity, Boaz listened to the tale and immediately addressed her in affectionate terms. It is by no means improbable, that a blush of shame crimsoned his cheek, from the recollection of his past negligence in suffering Naomi to pine away in solitary sadness and penury, when it was in his power to have afforded her relief. Reasons _might_ have existed to justify this delay, though they must have been very imperious to furnish even a plausible pretence for such indifference; but the best construction we can put upon his conduct is to suppose, that, like many worthy and benevolent men, he was dilatory in the execution of measures which he might have planned to discover and relieve the necessities of his kindred. The law of love was in his heart; he hastened to make reparation, and kindly enjoined her to glean in no other field, to keep fast by his own female servants, and to drink whenever she chose out of the vessels which were replenished from time to time for his reapers. He further issued orders to the young men employed in his service, to show every kindness, and to observe the utmost decorum towards her, upon pain of his displeasure.

It is observable, that Boaz addressed her by the tender epithet of _daughter_, adopting the language while he displayed the affection of a parental protector. Ruth had forsaken every Moabitish friend and relative, to share the fortunes of Naomi. Her birth-place, her home, her connections, all were relinquished for the privileges of her new relationship and adopted country, although to her eye nothing was presented but poverty and want. But her loss was gain; in Naomi she found a mother--in Boaz a father--in Bethlehem a home--in Judaism the religion of heaven, and the way to God. And shall they be eventually losers, who forsake all things for Christ and his gospel? Listen, ye youthful readers of either sex, and be wise--"Every one that hath forsaken houses, or brethren, or sisters, or father, or mother, or wife, or children, or lands, for my name's sake, shall receive a hundred-fold, and shall inherit everlasting life."

The reply of Ruth is singularly expressive of her characteristic modesty, humility, and goodness, The wealthy proprietor of the field had unexpectedly discovered in one word the history of this stranger: but she was wholly ignorant of the string that had been touched, and with artlessness replies, "Why have I found grace in thine eyes, that thou shouldest take knowledge of me, seeing I am a stranger?" This is equally the language of astonishment and gratitude. Little did she imagine the mighty consequences of this casual interview, or the real origin of this extraordinary kindness. Her susceptible and affectionate heart would have acknowledged the _smallest_ favour, while some, and unhappily too often, the most dependent and the most indulged of the children of indigence seem scarcely thankful for the _greatest_ obligations. It ought not to prevent our charity, but it may well excite our surprise, to find that needy persons are sometimes disposed to claim as a right what is bestowed as a boon.

Boaz intimated that the principal circumstances of her past life had come to his knowledge, and conveyed the most delicate commendation into her modest ear. He said, that he was aware of her whole behaviour to Naomi, with the sacrifice she had made of her native land and connections, and pronounced upon her an affectionate, solemn, and pious benediction: "The Lord recompense thy work, and a full reward be given thee of the Lord God of Israel, under whose wings thou art come to trust." To the same refuge from painful convictions and impending judgments may every reader instantly repair, embracing, by a devout faith, that glorious Light of the world, and Saviour of men, who was prefigured, in all the splendours of his love, by that miraculous brightness which shone between the wings of the cherubim in the ancient temple, and pointed the Jewish worshipper to "God manifest in the flesh."

Virtually disclaiming the praise which the opulent stranger had conferred, and far from imagining that she deserved, or had reason to expect any reward of God for conduct which she considered as no other than what a proper sense of duty demanded, Ruth thought herself honoured in the notice which she had received, respectfully acknowledged the condescension, and solicited its continuance. "Let me find favour in thy sight, my lord; for that thou hast comforted me, and for that thou hast spoken friendly unto thine handmaid, though I be not like unto one of thine handmaidens." Boaz repeats every kind assurance, invites her to share the rural repast, to "eat of the bread, and dip her morsel in the vinegar;" and with his own hand plentifully supplies her with "parched corn."

The sentiments of this excellent woman for the comparatively trifling kindness of her kinsman, may serve to reprove our cold returns, our disproportionate gratitude to the Supreme Benefactor, who daily loads us with temporal benefits, and constantly replenishes the cup of spiritual blessing; he, indeed, "comforts us;" in his word he "speaks friendly to us;" and we have, individually, abundant reason to confess, "I am not worthy of the least of all the mercies and of all the truth which the Lord has showed unto his servant."

The rural repast being ended, and Ruth having withdrawn into the field to pursue the humble labour of gleaning, which necessity and affection for an aged parent alike concurred to prompt, Boaz enjoined his reapers not only to allow her to glean, and to glean among the sheaves, but to "let fall some of the handfuls on purpose for her, and leave them that she may glean them, and rebuke her not." Her real thankfulness and amiable diffidence procured her these additional favours, and seem to have inspired the noble benefactor with a feeling which was afterward matured into love and consolidated in marriage. Let the poor beware of that cold indifference in the reception of benefits which freezes up the stream of benevolence, and chills the heart of the most liberal friend; let them equally avoid that forwardness which seems to demand, rather than to solicit kindness. Boaz, on this occasion, enjoyed a Double feast; with condescending familiarity he partook the frugal meal with his labourers, encouraging them by his presence and piety; with pleasure he fed the hungry stranger, cheerfully dispensing a portion of what he thankfully received from the Lord of all, whose bounty had enriched his possessions, and thus enjoying the luxury of doing good: this was indeed to his benevolent spirit, a feast which all the wealth of a Croesus could not otherwise have procured.

Boaz may be exhibited as a specimen of that prudential charity which should always regulate our distributions. He might have supplied Ruth at once from his ample repository of grain, or from the sheaves of the golden harvest; but he chose, on the contrary, to encourage her industry, though he kindly mitigated her toil. Indiscriminate gifts may rather favour idleness than relieve necessity; and it is as much a duty to see to the mode of distributing help to the needy, as to render them the requisite aid: besides which, the poor are more likely to value and to use properly what has been industriously acquired, than what is lavishly, however, as to its principle, benevolently communicated. Alleviate the toil of the necessitous, but do not prevent their useful employment of time and means. Industry is the law of the universe; and the Supreme Disposer of human affairs has appointed that "in the sweat of his face man should eat bread till he return unto the ground."

To Ruth this was one of the happiest evenings of a life which had been chequered with vicissitude, and of late particularly beclouded with, sorrow. How different were the feelings with which she returned to the cottage of her mother-in-law from those which afflicted her bosom when she quitted it in the early part of this memorable day.

Distressed and friendless she had gone forth; "not knowing whither she went," anxious only to procure some scanty subsistence for the day to satisfy the cravings of appetite, and to sustain the weakness of her dear and aged relative; but she returned laden with the spoils of the harvest field, an ephah of barley; she had been noticed by a very liberal proprietor of the soil, and invited to continue gleaning in his field. With what heartfelt satisfaction did she present the fruits of her first-day's exertion at the feet of Naomi, and sit down to share that kind of comfort to which Solomon has so strikingly alluded--"Better is a dinner of herbs where love is, than a stalled ox, and hatred therewith."

What family in Bethlehem was so truly blessed as these two poor women? Where, in the whole city, was concentrated so many sweet enjoyments, so many pure unsophisticated pleasures as met beneath this dwelling? Who would not rather turn into that lowly door, and listen to the inspired record of the conversation which took place between, its pious inmates, than hear the music which shakes the lordly roof, or witness the unmeaning gayety that riots in its apartments?--The good matron inquired where she had been gleaning; and seeing the ample supply she had procured, eagerly demanded where she had wrought: but unable, in the exultation and overflowings of her gratitude to wait for an answer, she pours forth her benedictions upon the unknown benefactor: "Blessed be he that did take knowledge of thee!" Her daughter informed her it was BOAZ; a name welcome to her ear, and calculated to kindle a hope in a bosom long filled with distracting griefs: she was reminded of former favours: she remembered his constant friendship to her family, and uttered an instantaneous supplication to Heaven for blessings upon his head. Unable herself to requite his kindness, she well knew who could recompense it, and therefore prayed, "Blessed be he of the Lord, who hath not left off his kindness to the living and to the dead!"

Such is the commerce between the benevolent rich and the pious poor; the former bestows subsistence, the latter blessings. How miserable, how _deservedly_ miserable is an incommunicative selfishness! Happy the man who can say with Job, "When the ear heard me then it blessed me; and when the eye saw me it gave witness to me: because I delivered the poor that cried, and the fatherless, and him that had none to help him. The blessing of him that was ready to perish came upon me, and I caused the widow's heart to sing for joy. I was a father to the poor."

With what astonishment must Ruth have heard, "The man is near of kin unto us, one of our next kinsmen!" but she did not arrogantly assume her right to what she had received, or, presuming upon the dignity of her relationship, propose to make immediate application for that support which he was so well able to afford: this would have been the first thought of an ordinary or a selfish mind. On the contrary, she expatiates, with a satisfaction which heartfelt gratitude and pre-eminent goodness alone could have inspired, upon the marked attention of Boaz--"He said unto me also, Thou shall keep fast by my young men until they have ended all my harvest." Naomi advised her to accept this bounty, lest, by gleaning in any other field she might seem to undervalue the permission, or to cherish an offensive dependency of spirit. With her characteristic meekness, Ruth assented, continuing to pursue her mean occupation during the weeks of harvest, and returning every evening to share with Naomi her humble cot and her scanty fare.

During all this time, the mind of the affectionate mother-in-law was meditating a plan to promote the future happiness of her daughter. Past the period of marriage herself, she knew that Ruth might yet adorn, as well as obtain an accession of comfort from such a connection. If the young woman were satisfied with her obscurity, and content to provide a precarious subsistence for herself and her venerable relative by the labour of her hands, Naomi was superior to that selfishness which would rather have aimed to retain her in perpetual subserviency to her convenience, than seek to augment her joys, advance her interests, and raise her to her proper sphere of usefulness. Having made every possible sacrifice to her and her religion, she deemed it the part of maternal kindness to avail herself of the existing laws respecting matrimony, to connect her with the noble minded Boaz. This solicitude she took the first opportunity of expressing, and directed her to measures, which, if they appear extraordinary to us, might not have been unseemly or unusual at that period and in that country. A few years are sufficient to operate a complete revolution in existing customs; it cannot therefore be surprising, that the manners of another quarter of the globe, at the distance of more than thirty centuries, should essentially differ from our own. To judge of their propriety by our standard is manifestly absurd; and to make great allowances for the state of society is, in cases of extreme variation, obviously necessary. After all, the conduct of Naomi may not be capable of entire vindication; though we are certain it proceeded from a sentiment of pure affection, and was connected with important results in the order of Providence: it is, moreover, recorded without the slightest hint of disapprobation.

Ruth was directed by her mother-in-law to repair with the utmost secrecy to the threshing-floor; and, when Boaz, conformably to the simple manners of the age, retired to rest among the heaps of corn, to place herself at his feet. When be spoke, she was to answer frankly, and await the intimation of his will. She did so: Boaz made the inquiry, and promised all that a sense of her virtues and a knowledge of her rights dictated. The law authorized the present application on her part at the instigation of Naomi, in order that the possessions of the family might not be alienated. Kinsmen were required to intermarry, and in case of refusal the near relative was treated with the utmost public indignity. Boaz perfectly understood this legal claim; and, notwithstanding his evident partiality to Ruth, ingenuously informed her, "There is a kinsman nearer than I." If he performed the kinsman's part, law and piety required acquiescence; if not, he solemnly avowed his own resolution to do so. Ruth departed before it was light, and carried the intelligence home. Boaz availed himself of the earliest opportunity in the morning to bring the affair to a decision; he went up to the gate, stopped the relative to whom he had alluded as he was passing by, and appealed to ten of the elders of the city. He at first agreed to the redemption of some family inheritance which belonged to Naomi; but, upon intimation that if he purchased the land he must marry Ruth, he declined it, giving full permission to his relative to enter into this contract. The mutual regard subsisting between Boaz and Ruth rendered this a most welcome circumstance, and the former immediately called upon the elders and all the people who were assembled on the occasion, to hear witness to this, as a fair, public, and honourable transaction. "So Boaz took Ruth, and she was his wife."

In some cases, where the matrimonial connection has been founded upon a dereliction of principle, and formed in defiance of the suggestions of common prudence, of parental kindness, and even of the interdictions of Heaven itself, we feel compelled to express our grief, rather than offer our congratulations; but where, as in the present instance, the voice of nature harmonized with that of reason, conscience, and God, who can hesitate to approve the union, and to anticipate that delightful result which has been so well expressed in poetic numbers?

"Hail, wedded love! by gracious Heaven design'd, At once the source and glory of mankind! 'Tis this can toil, and grief, and pain assuage, Secure our youth, and dignify our age; 'Tis this fair fame and guiltless pleasure brings, And shakes rich plenty from its brooding wings; Gilds duty's roughest path with friendship's ray, And strews with roses sweet the narrow way."

If, in all the circumstances that lead to this union, the interpositions of Providence be not always, perhaps not frequently, so marked, incontrovertible, and striking, as in the history under consideration, let it never be forgotten, that such a wise and good superintendence really exists, and may, in every instance, be traced in some degree by the devout observer. If our ways be committed to the Lord, he will direct our paths. Amidst the ardour of youth, we are not always capable of discerning what is really obvious, or of fully believing what is infallibly true: but years teach wisdom; the developements of futurity often throw light upon the mysteries of the past; in the coolness and quiet of the eventide of life, and even before that period, how commonly do good men acknowledge the kindness of those once distressing dispensations that thwarted their juvenile susceptibility. In the adverse, as well as the prosperous events of the life of Ruth, she could perceive that "all things worked together for her good;" and no reflecting Christian will hesitate to appropriate the same sentiment to himself. A plan was laid in the divine mind, in the execution of which she often acted unconsciously: the birth, the education, the original circumstances and residence, the removal, the final elevation of Ruth, were all essential parts of the scheme, links in the chain of mercy; and the same may be affirmed respecting the life of every pious individual.

One circumstance demands particular notice. Neither in Boaz nor in Ruth can we discern the least symptom of _precipitation_; they suffered Providence to work its own way, to accomplish, without any obstruction from their unholy haste and heedlessness, its own purposes; in neither of them is discernible the least trace of a wish to seek their own gratification irrespectively of the will of Omniscience; they were in a sense passive, resigning themselves wholly to the disposal of God; they did not force a passage through intervening impediments with an indecent and impious resolution of spirit, as if they could not, or would not be happy excepting in their own way, but "waited patiently for the Lord."

Young persons sometimes attempt to outstrip Providence, and dare to chide its lingerings, or to murmur at its decisions; they set up for separate empire, and imagine they can create their own paradise; a conduct which ultimately proves as fatal to their comfort as it is now to their respectability. It is an advantage for young people of both sexes, which cannot be too highly appreciated, to have judicious, and especially parental advisers. Let them not impute their kind suggestions to the frigidity of age when they do not keep pace with their own warm feelings, but consider that they are likely to know more of the world, and to deserve their attention after amassing a stock of experience. Why should their good advice, or even their urgent importunity, be deemed officious or be treated with contempt? If mistaken, they are not, or ought not to be, peremptory. If not obliged to _follow_ their opinion, young persons are certainly required, by every motive of duty, and even of self-interest, to _hear_ it. Were it admitted that Ruth erred in some degree from her excessive obsequiousness to Naomi, yet her general spirit and temper merit the strongest encomium, the deepest study, and the closet imitation.

Tragical as was the commencement of this history, its termination presents a very different aspect. We beheld the family of Elimelech sinking fast in human apprehension into oblivion, and his name beginning to cease in Israel; we now witness its restoration and prosperity: it has emerged from its obscurity into splendour, and shines with imperishable glory on the page of inspiration. The aged tree, which time had well nigh lopped of every branch, sprouts out afresh, and shoots forth with new vigour and luxuriancy. We should learn never to despair of Providence, never to relinquish hope, never to imagine that "any thing is too hard for the Lord." Time, and change, and death, whatever revolutions they may occasion in general society or in individual families, not only cannot prevent, but, by their diversified operations, shall conduce to accomplish the purposes of Heaven. "Time and change," exclaimed Job, "are against _me_." True; but they cannot countervail _Omniscience_.

We naturally congratulate our favourites upon their prosperity; and the interest we must feel in the history of Ruth swells into the highest satisfaction upon reading the closing part of the narrative. We hear of the birth of Obed, who derives additional importance from the illustrious line of his descent. A few generations conduct immediately to the MESSIAH. All the neighbourhood celebrates the event, and we have equal reason to hail and proclaim it: "And the women said unto Naomi, Blessed be the Lord, which hath not left thee this day without a kinsman, that his name may be famous in Israel; and he shall be unto thee a restorer of thy life and a nourisher of thine old age: for thy daughter-in-law, which loveth thee, which is better to thee than seven sons, hath borne him. And Naomi took the child and laid it in her bosom, and became nurse unto it. And the women her neighbours gave it a name, saying, There is a son born to Naomi; and they called his name Obed: HE IS THE FATHER OF JESSE, THE FATHER OF DAVID."

Ordinary minds avoid, as much as possible, recurring to past periods of indigence and inferiority of station. Any reference to such circumstances is deemed offensive, by people of the world who have been elevated from low situations to opulence and rank, and whose arrogant nothingness proves they have descended in moral worth and real respectability exactly in proportion as they have risen in temporal distinction. But every thing we know of Ruth tends to convince us that, if a detailed account of her private life had been given, it would have been highly honourable to her sensibility and her piety. How often, and with what feelings, would she pace the field where, in the situation of a humble gleaner, she first met with Boaz. With what emotions would she trace and retrace her own eventful story! And especially, with what devout gratitude would she call to mind the days of her idolatry in Moab, and the happy era of her spiritual emancipation! In her own past character, in her infatuated sister's defection, what motives to praise would arise, and what tears of mingled pain and pleasure would she shed! And shall not we, who have "tasted that the Lord is gracious," cherish a sense of our obligations to redeeming mercy, and "remember all the way which the Lord our God hath led us these years in the wilderness, to humble us and to prove us, to know what was in our hearts, whether we would keep his commandments or no?" Sweet are the recollections of piety, and acceptable the offerings of a grateful mind! How inferior to these the trees of Lebanon in sacrifice, or all the spicy mountains of Arabia in a blaze! From what depths of sin, what delusions of mind, and what danger of soul, has "God in Christ" delivered us! "Once far off," we are now "brought nigh"--"sometimes darkness, now light in the Lord"--"you hath he quickened, who were dead in trespasses and sins."

But far more exalted pleasures of memory and retrospection await the Christian in a future world. Having ascended above this cloudy spot into the glory of the divine presence, it will be his pleasing and privileged employment to retrace the events of past existence, when nothing but a _remembrance_ of the struggles and conflicts of this mortal state will remain, to enhance the raptures of eternal victory. What is crooked will then be made straight, what is perplexing will become plain, what is unknown will be revealed. Amidst the songs of heaven it will heighten our blessedness to recollect the sorrows of earth as _past_--clothed in the robe of salvation and triumph, it will be grateful to recall the time when we _wore the armour_ and _strove in the field_--arrived in port, it will be inexpressibly delightful to recur to the storm as then for ever _gone by_!

Deborah.