Bread is not so very dear;
Countless stores of loaves are wasted,
Burned in whisky,—drowned in beer.
Don’t say that the harvest failed us,—
“Under average,” “short,” or “light;”
Don’t say that the Bounteous Giver
Gave not as you think he might.
God is bountiful, and giveth
As becomes the Godhead’s hand;
Food for man and beast providing,