Poems by Cecil Frances Alexander Edited, with a preface, by William Alexander |
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THE MANNA IN THE WILDERNESS. |
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 | Poems by Cecil Frances Alexander |  |
THE MANNA IN THE WILDERNESS.
“And when the dew that lay was gone up, behold upon the
face of the wilderness there lay a small round thing, as small as
the hoar frost upon the ground.”—Exod. xvi. 14.
The long low streaks of crimson lay
Fringing the level sands,
As night was blushing into day
O'er Israel's pilgrim bands.
Fringing the level sands,
As night was blushing into day
O'er Israel's pilgrim bands.
Hot went the fiery sun below—
Red-hot he comes again,
Then what is this like beaded snow
That whitens all the plain?
Red-hot he comes again,
Then what is this like beaded snow
That whitens all the plain?
Never from distant Sinai's height
The frost-wind wandering here
Hath bound in silver fetters bright
The desert parched and drear.
The frost-wind wandering here
Hath bound in silver fetters bright
The desert parched and drear.
Never as gentle as a kiss
The snow flakes falling round
Dropped on its breast—then what is this,
Like hoar frost on the ground?
The snow flakes falling round
Dropped on its breast—then what is this,
Like hoar frost on the ground?
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Haste, Israel! press the measure down,
Ere yonder sun have power,
To melt the desert's crystal crown—
This is God's manna-shower.
Ere yonder sun have power,
To melt the desert's crystal crown—
This is God's manna-shower.
We, to that unreaped harvest drawn,
Come watch their labours gay,
Who gather, 'neath the fragrant dawn,
Their sweet food day by day.
Come watch their labours gay,
Who gather, 'neath the fragrant dawn,
Their sweet food day by day.
Our careless lips say day and night,
“Give us our daily bread,”
How little dream we of the might
That erst the manna shed.
“Give us our daily bread,”
How little dream we of the might
That erst the manna shed.
The times of old bright pictures bring,
We give them little heed—
That clamouring host, that small white thing
Like coriander seed,
We give them little heed—
That clamouring host, that small white thing
Like coriander seed,
Found, though they never saw it fall,
When the dew left the land—
Are precious types to us, to all,
Of God's sustaining hand;—
When the dew left the land—
Are precious types to us, to all,
Of God's sustaining hand;—
Are types of faith in Christ above
That day by day returns,
Hangs on the fulness of His love,
Receives but ever yearns;
That day by day returns,
Hangs on the fulness of His love,
Receives but ever yearns;
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Of grace that feeds our inward part
Renewed but still the same,
The small thing leavening all the heart,
We saw not when it came.
Renewed but still the same,
The small thing leavening all the heart,
We saw not when it came.
They sought each morn their measure sweet
The food the Lord had given—
Come we each day to Jesus' feet,
And find the bread of Heaven!
The food the Lord had given—
Come we each day to Jesus' feet,
And find the bread of Heaven!
| Poems by Cecil Frances Alexander | |