On the weary roads of my life,
On the weary miles,
Which passed through me,
as I passed over them,
Which pierced me like arrows
and drank up my songs,
On those weary ways
I saw people who weren't my foes,
And they gave me
Their bread of mercy
and water of kindness
In their dusty and weary palms
And received it from mine.
For we were no foes.
And there's nothing,
that's sweeter to me,
Than that bread
though drenched with sweat,
And that water,
though mixed with tears.
So we lived,
for we were no foes.
So together we throve and survived,
as we could,
And in mutual thriving
sometimes we forgot
The weariness of this life.
For we were no foes.
So we lived. But at times
In the uttermost depths
of our hearts
We unceasingly felt
That an hour will come
and a man will be born,
Who will make us be foes.
And then we shall cease...