You who would pass by and raise your hand against me,
Harken ere you harm me.
I am the heat of your camp fire on a cold night, the friendly
Shade screening you from the summer sun,
And my fruits are refreshing draughts quenching your
Thirst as you journey on.
I am the beam that holds your house, the board of your table,
The bed on which you lie, the timber that builds your boat.
I am the handle of your hoe, the door of your homestead,
The wood of your cradle, the shell of your last resting place.
I am the gift of God, and the friend of man.
You who pass by, listen to my prayer, harm me not.