I am the seed
    The Sower sowed;
I am the deed
    His hand bestowed
Upon the world.

Censure me not
    If a rank weed flood
The garden plot,
    Instead of a bud
To be unfurled.

Bridle your blame
    If the deed prove less
Than the bruited fame
    With which it came
From nothingness.

The seed of a weed
    Cannot be flowered,
Nor a hero's deed
    Spring from a coward.

Pull up the weed;
    Bring plow and mower;
Then fetch new seed
    For the hand of the Sower.