It’s a silent “p.”

Praise the Lord
oh my soul,
let all that is in me rejoice
as the last crackle
in the amber glowing ember
salutes the since passed flame
praise the Lord,
oh my soul,
and bless his holy name.

Praise the Lord,
oh my soul
let all that is in me weep well
for the hands that “Made in China,”
and for the trees which grew
then fell
to make the waste
that fills our tips,
which I presume,
leek into hell.

Praise the Lord,
oh my soul
may I recount each star
this night!
That outshines
my luminescent town
and the pollution from
its light.

Praise the Lord
oh my soul
purge me of my infinite
smallness of mind
which once reduced women
to vote-less maids
and forced blacks
to stand in line
as it now rejects men, and men
in love from making their vows
enshrined
while I can, at will,
proclaim as I please
the way I feel
about mine.

Praise the Lord
oh my soul
keep my tongue from
wicked speech!
For not all the words
I’ve learned, alas
give life and breath
like thee.

Eternal soul,
oh praise the Lord,
this flesh just wilts
with age!
My fingers gnarl,
curl into my palms
as sleep dulls
youthful rage
and as I, the last ember
fall through the flame
saved by love
and the hope in its name.

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