Thus spirits good and ill there be,
Although invisible to me;
Whate’er I do, they see me still,
But oh, good spirits! guide my will.
GIVE US OUR DAILY BREAD.
I knew a widow very poor,
Who four small children had;
The eldest was but six years old,
A gentle, modest lad.
And very hard this widow toiled
To feed her children four:
An honest pride the woman felt,
Though she was very poor.
To labor she would leave her home,
For children must be fed;
And glad was she when she could buy
A shilling’s worth of bread.
And this was all the children had,
On any day to eat;
They drank their water, ate their bread,
But never tasted meat.
One day, when snow was falling fast,
And piercing was the air,
I thought that I would go and see
How these poor children were.
Ere long I reached their cheerless home,
’Twas searched by every breeze;
When going in, the eldest child
I saw upon his knees.
I paused, and listened to the boy,—
He never raised his head;
But still went on and said,—“Give us
This day our daily bread.”