And know but half of what we say.

The bread on which our bodies feed

Is but the moiety of our need.

The soul, the heart, must nourished be,

And share the daily urgency.

And though it may be bitter bread

On which these nobler parts are fed,

No less we crave the daily dole,

O Lord, of body and of soul!

Sweet loaves, the wine-must all afoam,

The manna, and the honey-comb,—

All these are good, but better still

The sting for pride, the smart for sin,

The purging draught for self within,

The sorrows which we shuddering meet,

Not knowing their after-taste of sweet,—

All these we ask for when we pray,

“Give us our daily bread this day.”

Lord, leave us not athirst, unfed;

Give us this best and hardest bread,

Until, these mortal needs all past,

We sit at thy full feast at last,

The bread of angels broken by thee,

The wine of joy poured constantly.