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