Thou shalt not glean the corners
When the harvest field abound;
Nor strip the grapes from off the vines
So food cannot be found.
That hungry soul that's passing by
With mother and child;
Will feed upon god's blessing
And stop and rest awhile.
And somewhere down the road of life;
That child remembers when
They stopped along your pathway;
It was God's "feeding bin."
And so it was along the way
When you were sick and sore;
God looked down on the gleaning
And opened heaven's door.
History's full of war and conflict
With no sight of true release;
Who among us has the answer,
Restless mortals, is there no peace?