Tom: A
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1. Lord, I've never lived where churches grow,
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I loved creation better as it stood,
that day you finished it so long ago,
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and looked upon your work and called it good.
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2. I know that others find you in the light,
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that sifted down through tinted window panes,
and yet I seem to feel you near tonight
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in this dim, quiet starlight on the plains.
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3. I thank you, Lord, that I'm placed so well,
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that you've made my freedom so complete,
that I'm no slave to whistle, clock or bell,
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nor weak-eyed prisoner of Waller Street.
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4. Just let me live my life as I've begun,
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and give me work that's open to the sky,
make me a partner of the wind and sun,
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and I won't ask a life that's soft or high.
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5. Let me be easy on the man that's down,
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let me be square and generous with all,
I'm careless sometimes, Lord, when I'm in town,
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but never let 'em say I'm mean or small.
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6. Make me as big and open as the plains,
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and honest as the horse between my knees,
clean as the wind that blows behind the rains,
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free as the hawk that circles down the breeze.
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7. Forgive me, Lord, if sometimes I forget,
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you know about the reasons that are hid,
you understand the things that gall or fret,
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well, you knew me better than my mother did.
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8. Just keep an eye on all that's done or said,
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and right me sometimes when I turn aside,
and guide me on that long, dim trail ahead
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that stretches upward toward the great divide
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Oh, bury me not on the lone prairie,
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these words came low and mournfully
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from the pallid lips of a youth who lay
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on his dying bed at the close of day.
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Oh, bury me not, and his voice failed there,
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but we took no heed to his dying prayer,
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in a shallow grave just six by three,
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we buried him there on the lone prairie.
