Dale Lloyd

Each night the manna floated down
gathering like snow upon the ground—
quiet provision from above,
proof enough of faithful love.

New mercy with the morning sun,
enough until the day was done.
No need to store, no barns to build,
no bread to hide when the night is stilled.

And when they tried to hoard it,
to hold tomorrow by their will,
it spoiled and stank by morning light—
a lesson learned in open sight.

Daily bread was daily grace,
not strength to boast, not wealth to place.
It taught the heart a slower way—
to trust God only day by day.

Still, restless hearts like mine and yours
keep reaching past the open door.
We fear the night, we fear the lack,
and glance at what were holding back.

Yet still He gives—no angry word,
no punishment, no silence heard.
Again the manna meets the ground,
again His faithfulness is found.

Not bread to prove how well we planned,
but bread received with empty hands.
Not strength to rule the days ahead,
just grace enough for daily bread.

So teach my heart to stay right here,
to trust You now, not borrow fear.
To rise and take what You provide,
and leave tomorrow by Your side.

I ask for bread—no more, no less;
when morning comes, I’ll take my rest.