 | Lyra Pastoralis |  |
Marah
When Israel sat by Marah's wells and sighed,A mystic tree to Moses was revealed,
Whereby the bitter-tasting streams were healed,
And all the murmuring camp was satisfied.
Alas! from age to age, and far and wide,
Earth's weary plains their frequent Marahs yield;
For all some fount of sorrow is unsealed,
While in these pilgrim-tents our souls abide.
If on my march to-day, or if to-morrow,
Some painful Marah is prepared for me,
Let me not murmur, Lord, but seek to borrow
Sure leaves of healing from the wondrous Tree;
There is a sweetness in the bitterest sorrow,
If shadowed in its depths Thy Cross we see!
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