Libera, me , Domine,
‘Tis a vast economy,
Wading off a siege of cares,
Shrinkage, over-head, repairs;
Then to gain the utmost skill,
With a flourish of the quill,
From too flatulent a plea,
Libera me, Domine

From a temperamental stock,
Butting through the screens en bloc,
Of despond th’epitome,
Libera me, Domine

Woe to day’s departing flight!
Woe to colours in the night!
Red id violet, green is blue,
Turkey red a golden hue;
Villains of the deepest dye,
Schooled in many an alibi,
From their dark duplicity,
Libera me, Domine.

From Machiavellian wire,
That would privily conspire
With the felts to ‘gang a-gley,’?
Libera me, Domine.

From Pestilene of breaks,
Shiners, dirt, and doctor streaks,
Rolls as soft as soft can be,
Libera me, Domine.

From a jaded Mullen test,
‘Neath the customer’s request,
Fold and tear of low degree,
Libera me, Domine.

From depression’s stormy blast,
Ennui, fame’s iconoplast,
Most of all insolvency,
Libera me, Domine.

-H.G. McNeill