Classic Poem

Beatitude ! we humbly ask
For each poor priest his second flask.
Hourly we pray for daily bread.
Take half, and give us wine instead.
Thou keepest, as we know, the keys
Of heaven and earth; now, one of these
Can ope the cellar as thou wilt;
Trust us, no drop shall there be spilt.
If ever should a vintage fail
(God help us!) we must come to ale.
In sooth our sins deserve it all,
Yet never may such evil fall
Upon the priesthood and the grapes
Most fervently prays Walter Mapes.