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.