Lord Of All Strength, Behold, I Am But Frail! Lord Of All Harvest, Few The Grapes And Pale Allotted For My Wine-Press! Thou, Lord, Who Boldest In Thy Gift The Tempered Sword. Hast Armed Me With A Sapling! Lest I Die, Then Hear My Prayer, Make Answer To My Cry: Grant Me, I Pray, To Tread My Grapes As One Who Hath Full Vineyards, Teeming In The Sun; Let Me Dream Valiantly; And Undismayed Let Me Lift Up My Sapling Like A Blade; Then, Lord, Thy Cup For Mine Abundant Wine, Thy Foeman. Lord, For That White Steel Of Mine!