By

Rudyard Kipling

The stranger within my gate

he may be true or kind.

but he does not talk my talk:

I cannot feel his mind.

The men of my own stock

they may do ill or well.

but they tell the lies I am wont to tell;

we not need interpreters

when we go to buy or sell.

The stranger within my gate,

He may be evil or good,

but I cannot tell what powers control -

what reasons sway his mood;

nor when the gods of his far-off land

may repossess his blood.

The men of my own stock.

bitter or 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 sheaf -

and the grapes be all of one vine;

lest our children’s teeth are set on edge

by bitter bread and wine.