Cast thy _bread_ upon the waters: for thou shalt find it after many days.--Ecclesiastes, xi. 1. He that walketh righteously, and speaketh uprightly; he that despiseth the gain of oppressions, that shaketh his hands from holding of bribes, that stoppeth his ears from hearing of blood, and shutteth his eyes from seeing evil; he shall dwell on high: his place of defence shall be the munitions of rocks: _bread_ shall be given him; his waters shall be sure.--Isaiah, xxxiii. 15, 16. Give us this day our daily _bread_.--Matthew, vi. 11. The _bread_ of God is he which cometh down from heaven, and giveth life unto the world.--John, vi. 33. O King of earth, and air, and sea! The hungry ravens cry to thee; To thee the scaly tribes that sweep The bosom of the boundless deep. Thy bounteous hand with food can bless The bleak and lonely wilderness; And thou has taught us, Lord, to pray For daily _bread_ from day to day. And O, when through the wilds we roam, That part us from our heavenly home; When lost in danger, want, and woe, Our faithless tears begin to flow; Do thou thy gracious comfort give, By which alone the soul may live; And grant thy servants, Lord, we pray, The _bread_ of life, from day to day. _Heber._ _Bread_ of Heaven! on thee I feed, For thy flesh is meat indeed. Ever may my soul be fed With this true and living _bread_; Day by day with strength supplied, Through the life of Him who died. _Conder._ “Give us our daily _bread_,”--and was that prayer Unanswered from high Heav’n’s eternal dome? No, poor man, no!--its music entered there, And blessings dropp’d upon our earthly home: Let thy sad eye look round thee everywhere, When the rich showers or golden sunbeams come, And plenty greets thee from the teeming sod-- The fruit that blossoms from the hand of God? “Give us our daily _bread_;” Heaven whispers, “Yes.” “Give us our daily _bread_;” Earth mutters, “No,” And mocks the weepings of her sons’ distress: Bright hours of change are coming, sure though slow, When pride, and want, and error shall be less, And more of Heaven be registered below; Even now the half of Slavery’s flag is furled, And Thought’s free sunshine circles the wide world. _Burrington._ Kill not the flower that feeds the useful bee, For more than beauteous is that sweet flower’s blush; ’Tis toil’s reward that sweetens industry, As love inspires with strength th’ enraptured thrush. To fall’n humanity our Father said, That food and bliss should not be found unsought: That man should labour for his daily _bread_; But not that man should toil and sweat for nought.