English poem
Manna Hoarded
by John Newton (1725–1807)
The manna, favour’d Israel’s meat, Was gather’d day by day; When all the host was served, the heat Melted the rest away.
In vain to hoard it up they tried Against to-morrow came; It then bred worms and putrified, 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; Oh let it fall on all around, That we may eat and live!