Lord Bless My Ink Poem by Hannington Mumo

Not all that indite with the Lord find favor,
Many a versifier has perished a pauper;
And scores into tombs flung by the weight
And sorrowing burdens of penury and debt.

From such ignominies my verse Lord exculpate,
Let your slave tokens for pen's toil collect;
May poverty and arrears to him remain unknown;
Tell plenty thrive yet within his mansions calm,
And none of his scions taste gory times in town;
Grant none of their high count to borrow or beg;
But like their children's heritors,
May they be hands to give and lend.

If your mild servant should live to be old,
Bravely may he glad splendors of years bear;
Ever dining with your most diligent and bold,
Always shunning society of irreverent mortals.

If he must go via the valley of death,
Father, preserve his health and breath.