Full well I know I have more tares than wheat,
Brambles and flowers, dry stalks and withered leaves;
Wherefore I blush and weep as at thy feet
I kneel down reverently and repeat,
"Master, behold my sheaves!"
I know these blossoms clustering heavily,
With evening dew upon their folded leaves,
Can claim no value or utility—
Therefore shall fragrancy and beauty be
The glory of my sheaves.