I hungered long; my heart cried out for food.
Unsatisfied, I turned from stores of earth,
For they had naught to give to feed my soul.
The earth with barns well filled lay sore in dearth.
The pangs of hunger bid me cry to God.
He heard and fed me in His way benign
With portions from His hands—most costly food­—
None other than immortal bread and wine.

The food was not preserved in well-shaped loaves.
The bread must needs be broken if it feeds
And truly ministers the life divine.
So, broken, I must follow where He leads
In paths from which by nature I would shrink.
And know His grace sufficient is for me.
Now as I eat the broken bread, He says,
“Take, this do ye in remembrance of Me.”

He also gives me drink whene’er I thirst.
A full-wrung cup He holds with tender hand.
My trembling lips now press it and I drink­—
The bitterness I do not understand.
The mystery of pain is mine to share
With Him who giveth grace so full and free.
A secret joy is mine to hear Him say,
“This drink ye all in memory of Me.”