  ——— Tell me, my soul, tell me, I pine to know, Some future day, known as the harvest time! Am I to reap from all the grain I sow, My ill-wrought deed am I to claim as mine? If I should hurl my javelin in the dark, And spread out thorns and thistles ’long the way, Will it return and find me as its mark? Am I to tread the thorns some future day? O Lord, I pray that Thou wouldst guide my hand; Let not an evil seed by me be sown, Or cause to sprout within a brother’s land What I should hate to see within my own. |
|
