Lord, let me not, with angry heart and cold,
Tear down the fence around my brother's field,
Uprooting tares from out his growing wheat—
Lest the good blades be trampled by my feet.
Lord, let me not by jealous act pluck up
The smallest seedling of my brother's hope;
Let no uncalled-for candor break an ear
That, left to grow, full harvesting shall bear.
So occupy me working in my own
That I may leave my brother's field alone;
But give me grace, in comradeship to bring
Joy to the triumph of his harvesting.
