Poem By John Newton
The manna favored Israel's meat,
Was gathered day by day;
When all the host was served, the heat
Melted the rest away.
In vain to hoard it up they tried,
Against tomorrow came;
It then bred worms and putrefied,
And proved their sin and shame.
'Twas daily bread and would not keep,
But must be still renewed;
Faith should not want a hoard or heap,
But trust the Lord for food.
The truths by which the soul is fed,
Must thus be had afresh;
For notions resting in the head,
Will only feed the flesh.
However true, they have no life,
Or unction to impart;
They breed the worms of pride and strife,
But cannot cheer the heart.
Nor can the best experience past,
The life of faith maintain;
The brightest hope will faint at last,
Unless supplied again.
Dear Lord, while we in prayer are found,
Do thou the Manna give;
O! let it fall on all around,
That we may eat and live.