Our Daily Bread.

"Give us this day our daily bread!" O prayer
    By Jesus taught, thou hast become a cry
For starveling mouths in Famine's ghastly lair--
    A beggar's plaint when Dives passes by.

We have forsook the Temple of the Soul
    To carp with sordid tradesmen face to face;
No more we hear the Sinaian thunders roll,
    Or Jesus preaching in the market-place.

The money-changers flaunt their silks and gold;
    Within the Temple gates they ply their trade,
Forgetful of the Voice that cried of old:
    "A den of thieves my Father's house is made!"

Charles Hamilton Musgrove

No biography available

Charles Hamilton Musgrove

The Monastery.

Charles Hamilton Musgrove, Simple Poetry

Zoroaster.

Charles Hamilton Musgrove, Simple Poetry

A Woman, And Some Men.

Charles Hamilton Musgrove, Simple Poetry

Instruments.

Charles Hamilton Musgrove, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

Give Us This Day Our Daily Bread.

Give us this day our daily bread;
    Oh! children, when you pray,
And morn and night repeat these words,
    Think what it is you say.

You never asked a piece of bread,
    And had that wish denied;
For food to eat, and some to spare,
    Has always been supplied.

But o'er the ocean, many a cheek
    With want grows thin and pale;
And many suffer like the boy
    Of whom I tell this tale.

He lay upon some scattered straw,--
    His strength was almost gone,--
And, in a feeble voice, he cried,
    "Give me three grains of corn!"

Three grains from out his jacket torn,
    His trembling mother drew,
'Twas all she had--she gave them him,
    Though she was starving too!

Be very grateful, children, then,
    F...

H. P. Nichols

Hunger

Father, I cry to thee for bread
    With hungred longing, eager prayer;
Thou hear'st, and givest me instead
    More hunger and a half-despair.

0 Lord, how long? My days decline,
    My youth is lapped in memories old;
I need not bread alone, but wine--
    See, cup and hand to thee I hold!

And yet thou givest: thanks, O Lord,
    That still my heart with hunger faints!
The day will come when at thy board
    I sit, forgetting all my plaints.

If rain must come and winds must blow,
    And I pore long o'er dim-seen chart,
Yet, Lord, let not the hunger go,
    And keep the faintness at my heart.

George MacDonald

The Gracious Provider.

"They need not go away!" the Master said,
    "Give ye to them." Ah, Lord, behold our store -
    These loaves, these fishes, - see, we have no more!
How shall this fainting throng with these be fed?
"Make them sit down!" - and the disciples sped
    To do His will. He blessed, and brake, and gave
    And as they ate, each heart grew strong and brave,
Filled, till they craved no more, with hallowed bread.
Thus, when our hearts grow faint, and stores are small,
    And thou demandest all that we possess,
O, help us, Lord, to bring that little all,
Knowing shouldst thou the gift accept and bless,
    Our worthless store, so changed and glorified,
Ourselves shall feed, and fainting throngs beside.

Pamela S. Vining (J. C. Yule)

What Man Is There Of You?

The homely words how often read!
    How seldom fully known!
"Which father of you, asked for bread,
    Would give his son a stone?"

How oft has bitter tear been shed,
    And heaved how many a groan,
Because thou wouldst not give for bread
    The thing that was a stone!

How oft the child thou wouldst have fed,
    Thy gift away has thrown!
He prayed, thou heard'st, and gav'st the bread:
    He cried, "It is a stone!"

Lord, if I ask in doubt and dread
    Lest I be left to moan,
Am I not he who, asked for bread,
    Would give his son a stone?

George MacDonald

Evening Hymn In The Hovels.

"We sow the fertile seed and then we reap it;
    We thresh the golden grain; we knead the bread.
Others that eat are glad. In store they keep it,
    While we hunger outside with hearts like lead.
Hallelujah!

"We hew the stone and saw it, rear the city.
    Others inhabit there in pleasant ease.
We have no thing to ask of them save pity,
    No answer they to give but what they please.
Hallelujah!

"Is it for ever, fathers, say, and mothers,
    That we must toil and never know the light?
Is it for ever, sisters, say, and brothers,
    That they must grind us dead here in the night?
Hallelujah!

"O we who sow, reap, knead, shall we not also
    Have strength and pleasure of the food we make?
O we who hew, build, deck,...

Francis William Lauderdale Adams

A Short Sermon.

"He that giveth to the poor, lendeth to the Lord."

The night-wind comes in sudden squalls:
The ruddy fire-light starts and falls
Fantastically on the walls.

The bare trees all their branches wave;
The frantic wind doth howl and rave,
Like prairie-wolf above a grave.

The moon looks out; but cold and pale,
And seeming scar'd at this wild gale
Draws o'er her pallid face a veil.

In vain I turn the poet's page--
In vain consult some ancient sage--
I hear alone the tempest rage.

The shutters tug at hinge and bar--
The windows clash with frosty jar--
The child creeps closer to "Papa."

And now, I almost start aghast,
The clamor rises thick and fast,
Surely a troop of fiends drove past!

That last shock shook the ...

James Barron Hope