IV.  Hymn after meat

  Refreshed we rise, and for this bread that feeds,
  By law of man’s weak flesh, our daily needs,
    Let every tongue, the Father’s praises sing;
  The Father Who on His exalted throne,
  O’er Cherubim and Seraphim, alone
    Reigns in His majesty, Eternal King.

  God of Sabaoth is His name:  ’tis He
  Who ne’er began and ne’er shall cease to be,
    Builder of worlds created at His word;
  Fountain of Life that flows from out the sky,
  He breathes within us Faith and Purity,
    Great Conqueror of Death, Salvation’s Lord.

  From Him each creature life and vigour gains,
  And over all the Eternal Spirit reigns
    Who cometh from the Father and the Son: 
  When, dovelike, on pure hearts the heavenly Guest
  Descends, they are by God’s own presence blest,
    As temples where His holy work is done.

  But if the taint of vice or guile arise
  Within the consecrated shrine, He flies
    With speed from out the sin-defiled cell;
  For, driven forth by guilt’s black, surging tide,
  The offended Godhead may not there abide
    Where conscious sin and noisome foulness dwell.

  Not chastity nor childlike faith alone
  Build up for Christ an everlasting throne
    Deep in the inmost heart, devoid of shame: 
  But watchful ever must His servants be,
  Lest the dark power of sated gluttony
    Should bind about the abode of faith its chain.

  Yet simple saints, content with frugal fare,
  More surely find the Spirit present there,
    Who is our soul’s true strength and heavenly food: 
  Thy love for us a twofold feast supplies,
  O Father, whence the soul may strengthened rise
    And eke the body gain new hardihood.

  Thus, fed and sheltered by Thy matchless might,
  The lions’ hideous roar could not affright
    Thy loyal servant in the days of old: 
  He boldly cursed the molten deity
  And stood with stubborn head uplifted high
    That scorned to bow before a god of gold.

  Then Babylon’s vile mob with fury glows;
  Death is his doom; and straight the tyrant throws
    The youth to be his savage lions’ prey: 
  But faith and piety Thou still dost save,
  For lo! the untamed brutes no longer rave,
    But round God’s unscathed child they gently play.

  Close by his side they stand with drooping mane,
  The grisly, gaping jaws from blood refrain
    And with rough tongues their whilom prey caress: 
  But when in prayer he raised his hands to heaven
  And called the God, from Whom such help was given,
    Close-prisoned, hungry, and in sore distress,

  A winged messenger to earth He sends,
  Who swiftly through the parting clouds descends
    To feed His servant, proven by the test: 
  By chance he sees from far the unbought fare
  Which the good seer Habakkuk’s kindly care
    With rustic art had for the reapers dressed: