Poem May 28, 1932 Issue

Supply

FRANCES HILDA BRAY

I will not labor for tomorrow's bread,
Sufficient for today is my supply;
For He who once the hosts of Israel fed
With manna, which fell unseen from the sky,
Still feeds His children as He did of yore,
From out His infinite, unfailing store.

O mortal sense, so transient and dim,
What canst thou know of Love's unchanging care?
Hark, how the robin pipes his morning hymn
Though all the earth be snowbound, forests bare;
He sings his little grace before his eye
Hath yet beheld his humble day's supply.

Go, ask the lilies who hath bid them grow,
Or who hath decked them in such bright array;
Ah, surely then thy inmost heart must know
Thou lov'st the Father better far than they;
And God His child must ever clothe and shield,
E'en as He clothes the lilies of the field.

I will not labor for tomorrow's bread,
Sufficient for today is my supply;
For sermons in the lilies have I read,
And seen Love's promise in the robin's eye.
"Give us this day our daily bread," I'll pray,
The morrow's Thine; I thank Thee for today.

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