Thanksgiving
Lord, how ungrateful
has my heart become!
My spirit by the season
repossessed
A woeful world
of sin and debt undone
And my poor soul
with fleshy lust obsessed
And in this filthy market
I am back
In which I feel
the fear of being less
The urge to buy
cheap stuff I do not lack
Yet sadly forfeit
that for which I'm blessed
For all the things I have,
who must I thank?
Instead I loathed
this empty, hollow sack
When blessings count
my selfish mind is blank
And pitch my tent
where night is dark and black
For what is man
t'is but to feed like beasts
Devouring all
and cast that which is foul
My life on earth
has but so short a lease
Set free from slaughter
like a pardoned fowl
O Lord, in thee alone
I find my all
May I be grateful
though my lot be small
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