Poems (Shipton)/Marah

by Anna Shipton

MARAH.

Exodus xv. 25. Isaiah xiii. 12.

The bitter stream of Marah,—
 How did I quail and shrink,
As, thirsting in the desert,
 I trembling stooped to drink!
I murmured, "Why this Marah
 On my love-path to-day?"
No answer but the roaring
 Of the wild wave on its way.

Thirsty, footsore, and weary,
 Did He not hear my cry?—
The mighty God of Jacob,
 Who triumphed gloriously;
Whose praises fill the echoes,
 Whose mighty deeds are told
In each day's march of mercy,
 As wondrous as of old.

Three days,—yet all was silence,
 And glittering sand and drought;
Three days I watched and waited,
 And living waters sought;
Three days,—but all was desert,
 And sharp the burning blast,
Like a furnace breath swept o'er me:—
 Deliverance came at last.

Behold, and lo! beside me
 I marked a fair tree lie,
Marred by fierce hands that held it
 So rude and ruthlessly.
I cast it in the waters,
 And the stream flowed softly on;
I drank that day of Marah,—
 Its bitterness was gone.

That tender plant, rejected,
 Hidden from sight, had lain,
Until from earth's dark chamber
 It rose to life again.
Three days,—and then it blossomed,
 And wondrous fruit it bore;
Its leaves are leaves of healing,
 And will be evermore.

And now I stand by Marah,
 Where once I shrank and feared;
Even those bitter waters
 His tenderness endeared:
And safe beneath His shadow
 My soul looks calmly on,
Till the day breaks on the mountain,
 And the desert march is done.

Beneath the Rock I rest me;
 The stream is bright and sweet;
I drink from its deep waters,
 And lave my dust-stained feet;
I fill my earthen pitcher,
 From the wavelets on the brink:
Is one athirst and weary?
 Then let him come and drink.

I thank Thee, Lord, for Marah:
 Thy bitter mercies shine
With the radiance of Thy glory,
 In this lone march of mine.
I thank Thee, too, for Elim,
 The palm-tree and the well;
But I praise Thee more for Marah
 Than my stammering tongue can tell.