âThe Strangerâ
By Rudyard KiplingÂ
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 fatherâs belief  And this is also mine: Let the corn be all one sheafâ  And the grapes be all one vine, Ere our childrenâs teeth are set on edge  By bitter bread and wine.
















