Voices Late At Night
Until I have appeased the itch
To be a millionaire,
Spare us, O Lord, relent and spare;
Don’t end the world till it has made me rich.
It ends in poverty.
O Lord, until I come to fame
I pray Thee, keep the peace;
Allay all strife, let rancor cease
Until my book may earn its due acclaim.
It ends in strife, unknown.
Since I have promised wealth to all,
Bless our economy;
Preserve our incivility
And greed until the votes are cast this fall.
Unknown, it ends in ruin.
Favor the world, Lord, with Thy love;
Spare us for what we’re not.
I fear Thy wrath, and Hell is hot;
Don’t blow Thy trumpet until I improve.
Worlds blaze; the trumpet sounds.
O Lord, despite our right and wrong,
Let Thy daylight come down
Again on woods and field and town,
To be our daily bread and daily song.
It lives in bread and song.