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,
For all that you enjoy;
Remembering, as you say those words,
The little Irish boy.
