Forgive, O Lord, Our Excess of Virtuous Contrition

Our nation, born of genocide,
In slaves and conquest takes its pride;
From then till now, warfare's the thing,
With due "enhancéd questioning" -
Unless the thought perchance occur
That it's American to err.

But now, thank God! we're done with such,
And swear henceforth, however much
Of baring tortured soul it takes,
We shall be kind to our mistakes.
Forgiveness now must be our text
When next we err, and next, and next.

Trapper Clapper