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