 | The collected works of Ambrose Bierce |  |
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FOR A REVISED VERSION
Oh, deem it not presumption, Lord,In me to revise Thy holy Word—
No jot or tittle I'd efface,
No menace dire, nor pledge of grace.
No poetry I'd blot (although it's
Well known to Thee that I hate poets),
But humbly, reverently try
Some missing mandates to supply.
For lo! I fall of dunces ill,
Who've got by heart Thy written will;
I turn, behold! in tears away
From rogues Thy bidding who obey.
Wherever “Thou shalt not” occurs
I'd add “Thou shalt the exact reverse,”
And many a virtue, too, compel
(By plain command and threat of hell)
Which has no corresponding vice
To interdict in terms precise.
Thus I'd exterminate the brood
Of rascals negatively good—
Men Bible-clear, who ought to smart
Beneath the lash at tail of cart.
Each soul (masks, too, would then be thinner)
If not a saint, should be a sinner.
In error, Lord, if I am found,
Observe how clouds my vision bound:
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And bless me with the larger light
In Thine imperfect law to trace
The perfect purpose of Thy grace.
| The collected works of Ambrose Bierce | |