A Coal Miner's Prayer
Author: Brenda Grahm

Take a look at these hands, Lord,

They’re worn and rough.

My face scarred with coal marks,

My language is tough.

But you know in the heart, Lord,

Lies the soul of a man

Who toils at a living

That few men can stand

There’S sulphur and coal dust

And sweat on my brow.

To live like a rich man,

I’d never learn how.

But if you’ve got a corner

When my work is through,

I’d be mighty proud to live

Neighbors with you.

Each dawn as I rise, Lord,

I know all to well…

I face only one thing:

A pit filled with hell.

To scratch out a living

The best that I can.

But deep in this heart

Lies the soul of a man.

With black covered faces

And hard calloused hands,

We ride the dark tunnels,

Our work to begin.

To labor and toil

As we harvest the coal

We silently pray,

Lord, please harvest our souls

Just a corner in Heaven

When I’ve grown too old

And my back it won’t bend, Lord,

To shovel the coal.

Lift me out of the pit, Lord.

Where the sun never shines,

‘Cause it get mighty weary

Down there in the mine.

But I’d rather be me, Lord.

Though no riches I show,

Though tired and weary.

I’m just glad to know

When the Great Seal is broken

The pages will tell

That I’ve already spent

My time in hell.

                                                                              ©Brenda Graham
All Rights Reserved







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