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1. Lord, I've never lived where churches grow,
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    I loved creation better as it stood,
    that day you finished it so long ago,
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    and looked upon your work and called it good.
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2. I know that others find you in the light,
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    that sifted down through tinted window panes,
    and yet I seem to feel you near tonight
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    in this dim, quiet starlight on the plains.
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3. I thank you, Lord, that I'm placed so well,
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    that you've made my freedom so complete,
    that I'm no slave to whistle, clock or bell,
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    nor weak-eyed prisoner of Waller Street.
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4. Just let me live my life as I've begun,
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    and give me work that's open to the sky,

    make me a partner of the wind and sun,
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    and I won't ask a life that's soft or high.
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5. Let me be easy on the man that's down,
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    let me be square and generous with all,

    I'm careless sometimes, Lord, when I'm in town,
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    but never let 'em say I'm mean or small.
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6. Make me as big and open as the plains,
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    and honest as the horse between my knees,

    clean as the wind that blows behind the rains,
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    free as the hawk that circles down the breeze.
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7. Forgive me, Lord, if sometimes I forget,
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    you know about the reasons that are hid,

    you understand the things that gall or fret,
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    well, you knew me better than my mother did.
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8. Just keep an eye on all that's done or said,
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    and right me sometimes when I turn aside,

    and guide me on that long, dim trail ahead
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    that stretches upward toward the great divide

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    Oh, bury me not on the lone prairie,
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    these words came low and mournfully
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    from the pallid lips of a youth who lay
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    on his dying bed at the close of day.
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    Oh, bury me not, and his voice failed there,
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    but we took no heed to his dying prayer,
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    in a shallow grave just six by three,
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    we buried him there on the lone prairie.