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The Bitter Seed
My honor, my repute, my sacred trust,
This garden, this treasure, worth defending,
Till my vigor wanes and my bones are dust,
These living fields, I am e’er amending.
E’er attending, ’less some foolhardy knave,
Some discord-sower plants his bitter seed,
Seeking to bury me in a lout’s grave,
By casting shade upon my words and deeds.
O, Heavenly Father, lend me thy strength!
Not the conviction to repair my fame,
But the mettle to travers not sin’s lengths,
Adding real, not false, folly ’gainst my name.
Preserve me, O Lord, from these hapless ills,
Which long to sway me from driving thy till.
-Q-