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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.
John Newton's other poems:
English Poetry. E-mail firstname.lastname@example.org