The Stranger within my gate
He may be true or kind
But he does not talk my talkâ€"
I cannot feel his mind
I see the face and the eyes and the mouth
But not the soul behind
The men of my own stock
They may do ill or well
But they tell the lies I am wonted to
They are used to the lies I tell
And we do not need interpreters
When we go to buy and sell
The Stranger within my gates
He may be evil or good
But I cannot tell what powers controlâ€"
What reasons sway his mood;
Nor when the Gods of his far-off land
Shall repossess his blood
The men of my own stock
Bitter bad they may be
But, at least, they hear the things I hear
And see the things I see;
And whatever I think of them and their likes
They think of the likes of me
This was my father's belief
And this is also mine:
Let the corn be all of one sheafâ€"
And the grapes be all of one vine
Ere our children's teeth are set on edge
By bitter bread and wine