God's Grace.

In vain our labours are whatsoe'er they be,
Unless God gives the benedicite.

What God gives, and what we take,
'Tis a gift for Christ, His sake:
Be the meal of beans and peas,
God be thanked for those and these:
Have we flesh, or have we fish,
All are fragments from His dish.
He His Church save, and the king;
And our peace here, like a spring,
Make it ever flourishing.

God, as He's potent, so He's likewise known
To give us more than hope can fix upon.

God's bounty, that ebbs less and less
As men do wane in thankfulness.

God is more here than in another place,
Not by His essence, but commerce of grace.

God gives not only corn for need,
But likewise sup'rabundant seed;
Bread for our service, bread for show,
Meat for our meals, and fragments too:
He gives not poorly, taking some
Between the finger and the thumb;
But for our glut and for our store,
Fine flour press'd down, and running o'er.