WE are workers in one vineyard;
Some are strong and some are weak;
But the smiling of the vintage
Is the common joy we seek.
Some must trail the vine and prune it,
Some must stoop to dress the mould;
But the few can pluck the clusters,
In the autumn's haze and gold.
We are workers altogether;
Let us show no vain conceit,
While we pray the Lord of harvest
Make us loving, keep us sweet.
We are builders, and the temple
Rises slowly day by day;
Some must lay the polished corners,
Some the brick of heavy clay;
Only one can place the cap-stone
On the summit grand and high,
While the shout of "Grace unto it,"
Rises to the vaulted sky.
