My Prayer

I cannot ask for bread, O Lord,

To meet my private hunger

When the fields of grain are trampled down

And black artillery's thunder

Is heaping devastation on

The stores of humble labor.

Whose plowshares tyrants beat into

Long bayonet or saber.

I cannot pray for self esteem

When every warring nation

Is tearing down the monuments

Inscribed to man's creation

To be the monarch of the earth;

But choosing now to burrow

For safety in his high estate,

Like rodents in a furrow.

I cannot pray for peace of mind

Nor warm and kindly shelter

When men like me can turn the world

Into a sickening welter

Of blood and tears and broken lives

And walls beyond redeeming;

Where bleak destruction in a day

Has killed a century's dreaming.

The only thing I ask, dear Lord,

Is for the grace of sharing

The heavy burdens of mankind

That other men are bearing

I pray, then, for the light to know,

When shrouds of hate are rent,

That while there's evil in the world

I, too, am recreant!

(First published in Along the Lane: Dedicated to the memory of Thomas William Larsen, who lost his life in World War II)