by Judge Roy Moore
America the Beautiful, or so you used to be.
Land of the Pilgrims’ pride; I’m glad they’ll never see.
Babies piled in dumpsters, Abortion on demand,
Oh, sweet land of liberty, your house is on the sand.
Our children wander aimlessly poisoned by cocaine,
Choosing to indulge their lusts,
When God has said abstain.
From sea to shining sea, our Nation turns away
From the teaching of God’s love
And a need to always pray.
So many worldly preachers tell lies about our Rock,
Saying God is going broke so they can fleece the flock.
We’ve kept God in our temples,
How callous we have grown.
When earth is but His footstool,
And Heaven is His throne.
We’ve voted in a government that’s rotting at the core,
Appointing Godless Judges
Who throw reason out the door,
Too soft to place a killer in a well deserved tomb,
But brave enough to kill a baby
Before he leaves the womb.
You think that God’s not angry,
That our land’s a moral slum?
How much longer will He wait
Before His judgement comes?
How are we to face our God,
From Whom we cannot hide?
What then is left for us to do,
But stem this evil tide?
If we who are His children, will humbly turn and pray;
Seek His holy face and mend our evil way;
Then God will hear from Heaven
And forgive us of our sins,
He’ll heal our sickly land and those who live within.
But, America the Beautiful,
If you don’t then you will see,
A sad but Holy God withdraw His hand from Thee.