I've had this nifty paraphrase by Dante trying to float its way to my forebrain lately, but my memory keeps failing me. So here 'tis, to pass along the Purgatory to you:

Our Father, dwelling in the Heavens above, nowise
  As circumscribed, but as the things above,
  The first effects, are dearest in thy eyes,

Hallowed Thy name be and the Power thereof,
  By every creature, as right meet as it is
  We praise the tender effluence of Thy Love.

Let come to us, let come Thy Kingdom's peace;
  If it come not, we've no power of our own
  To come to it, for all our subtleties.

Like as with glad Hosannas at Thy throne
  Thine angels offer up their wills alway,
  So let men offer theirs, that Thine be done.

Our daily manna give to us this day,
  Without which he that through this desert wild
  Toils most to speed goes backward in his way.

As we, with all our debtors reconciled,
  Forgive, do Thou forgive us, nor regard
  Our merits, but upon our sins look mild.

Put not our strength, too easily ensnared,
  And overcome, to proof with the old foe;
  But save us from him, for he tries it hard.

-- Dante, Purgatory (Sayers trans.), XI, 1-21