When we struggle for our vacant thrones,
But are earthlings beyond God's redeeming
While we lean, and creep, and beg in moans,
And base kneeling cramps our knitted bones.
Strength is given us, and a field for labor,
Boundless vigor and a boundless field;
Not to eat the harvests of our neighbor,
But our own fate's reaping-hook to wield—
Gathering only what our lands may yield;
If perchance it may be wheat or darnel,