The Prisoner’s Prayer
This poem was written by Arthur Winter on the wall of the Federal Prison at McNeil Island, Washington, in September, 1909, and later memorized by another prisoner and forwarded to the Whiz Bang upon his release. We offer it to you for what you think it is worth.
Our prayer has gone up through the ages
To a God whom they say gave us souls;
But the fear of anger still rages,
The thunder of punishment rolls.
We are sheep that are driven to slaughter;
We are dogs that are whelped in the street;
We are useless as poisonous water;
We are only for punishment meet.
So hear ye the prayers from the prison,
Where fever and famine are rife;
Where never one soul has arisen,
Where myriads go down in the strife.
Where the black wing of death scarcely hovers,
Lest its jesters should make him unclean;
And the soft fleecy clouds hurry over,
To shut out God’s sun from the scene.
Where the light of God’s orb would be stricken,
With shame as it passed in the sky,
To look in the cells where we sicken,
To fall in the sod where we die.
If thou, God, omnipotent being,
Can pierce the prison’s pale gloom;
And growest not sick of the seeing,
This charnel, this foul-reeking tomb?
If Thy hand stretch not forth in its anger,
To smite this damn den of despair,
Whose evil is rampant, and languor
Is lord of the poisonous lair.
Then God, take Ye back your creation,
And plunge it in infinite fire,
Your wrath is eternal damnation,
But man’s is more lasting dire.
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