For a Revised Version by Ambrose Bierce

Oh, deem it not presumption, Lord, In me to revise Thy holy Word⁠— No jot or tittle I’d efface, No menace dire, nor pledge of grace. No poetry I’d blot (although it’s Well known to Thee that I hate poets), But humbly, reverently try Some missing mandates to supply. For lo! I fall of dunces ill, Who’ve got by heart Thy written will; I turn, behold! in tears away From rogues Thy bidding who obey. Wherever “Thou shalt not” occurs I’d add “Thou shalt the exact reverse,” And many a virtue, too, compel (By plain command and threat of hell) Which has no corresponding vice To interdict in terms precise. Thus I’d exterminate the brood Of rascals negatively good⁠— Men Bible-clear, who ought to smart Beneath the lash at tail of cart. Each soul (masks, too, would then be thinner) If not a saint, should be a sinner. In error, Lord, if I am found, Observe how clouds my vision bound: Forgive my narrowness of sight, And bless me with the larger light In Thine imperfect law to trace The perfect purpose of Thy grace.