I try to keep camp staff and scouts guessing. So I have a tendency to use this grace when I’m asked to say grace in the dining hall:
let us sing of well-founded Earth,
Mother of all, eldest of all.
She feeds all creatures that are in the world:
All that go on the goodly land,
And all that are in the paths of the sea,
And all that fly — all these are fed of her store.
Through you, O queen, men are blessed in their harvests,
And blessed in their children,
And to you it belongs to give happiness to mortals,
And to take it away.
Freely bestow upon us for this our song,
Substance that cheers the heart. Amen.
In a camp that’s usually crawling with various denominations of Catholics,, Mormons and various Protestant stripes… It’s unusually well-received.