WHAT IS IT?

What is it, hasty murmurer, to thee

This heavenly Bread rained down for daily need?

Is it enough—or dost thou seek to be

Still filled from Egypt’s tempting store with greed?

 

Oh think upon the gracious, tender love

That has foreseen those forty years of days,

And made such full provision from above

That we might learn Himself through all His ways.

 

Fine, granular, as hoar-frost on the ground,

Near and profuse each morning on the sand—

Is it too small, this kind of Man we’ve found

Who’ll later be the old Corn of the land?

 

Then stoop to gather early for your soul

The needed grace, to nourish and sustain

The inward man, toward the heavenly goal

Where He, Himself, shall be our endless gain.

 

Like coriander seed, and white, with taste

Of cake and honey—heaven’s bounty shed—

And bdellium’s appearance—glory traced—

A table in the wilderness is spread!

 

‘And when the dew fell on the camp by night,

The manna fell upon it’—mission great

Of Him who’s come to fill us with the light

Lest earth’s dark influences contaminate.