The poem
"Give me my daily bread. It seems so odd, When all is done and said, This plea to God. To pray for cake might be The thing to do; But bread, it seems to me, Is just our due.
"Give me my daily toil," I ought to say - (If from life's cursed coil I'd time to pray.) Give me my daily sweat, My body sore, So that bread I may get To toil for more.
"Give me my daily breath," Through half a sob, Until untimely death Shall end my job. A crust for my award, I cry in dread:
"Grant unto me. Oh Lord, My daily bread!"