Don’t let me get to Ninety-three,
Just to discern my life to be
Wasted in futility.
Don’t let me say when it’s too late,
“I should have shut that stable gate.
If I knew then what I know now
I’d choose a new furrow to plough.”
Lord, don’t let me shut my eyes
To the beauties of the earth and skies,
The mysteries of the ‘hows’ and ‘whys.’
Lord I beg don’t let me dwell
In a self-created hell,
Crushing blessings under foot,
Pleading famine in a glut.
Lord don’t let me blunder blindly,
Neglecting those who do surround me,
Hurting them unwittingly,
Contributing nought but pain,
Not a fountain just a drain,
Always taking never giving,
A tragic way to earn a living.
Lord instead please grant to me,
Judgement and sensitivity,
So I may grasp reality,
And then I ask for discipline,
That I may honest works begin,
And through a life of harmony,
Prepare for leaving happily.
