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From Day to Day

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Pacific Press Publishing Company · Oakland, California · Apr 24, 1901

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 27, No. 17.

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FROM DAY TO DAY.

By Thomas Robert Williamson

On sand-wastes brown God’s manna fell Amply from day to day, And records old the story tell How wondrously He gave, and well, Food for the desert way.
Day after day the dreary sands Showed naught of growth or life, Save stunted thorns that tear the hands, That grow in matted clumps and bands, Sword-pointed as for strife.
Day after day the gravel dry Under their sandals rolled, And for the end with weary sigh They looked and wished fair Canaan nigh, Or longed for Egypt’s fold.
“O for the Jordan’s dashing flow, For vineyards, wheat-fields broad! O, that we ne’er again might know The bare rock’s heat, the desert’s glow, The sultry, bitter road!
“O that our feet might plash across Some swelling, limpid stream, Where the soft gales the oak boughs toss, Where apples’ tint and olives’ gloss From fruit-filled orchards gleam;
“Where as the red sun sank behind The western mountains’ shade, At eve on grassy seats reclined We might a happy resting find With none to make afraid!”
Hard was the journey, rough the road, Yet help came day by day; The cloud-shaft still a right path showed, At night the fiery column glowed In glory o’er the way.
And if at Marah, bitter springs Mocked their impatient thirst, To prove them God allowed life’s stings; The desert led to happier things; Heaven waits, but earth comes first.
And day by day the manna fell Abundant, free, and good. At no mart might they buy or sell, Yet bounteously they fared, and well, On heavenly angels’ food.
Were life’s way made as kindly fair As human hearts desire, If the arched sky, the heavens rare, Dropped ceaseless joy without a care O’er this world’s dust and mire,
Our souls on earth would rest content, Wrapt in sin’s blight and gloom, The tokens in God’s firmament, The signs of doom so kindly sent, Might never drive us home.
“Come home, My children,” so God’s voice Sounds down the starry way: “Make My pure world your happy choice. You’re destined for angelic joys Above earth’s frowning day.”
So day by day we journey on In patience o’er life’s path; The fire, the cloud, lead toward God’s throne; We eat heaven’s food, we’ll wear it’s crown, Nor deem life’s lessons wrath.
THOMAS ROBERT WILLIAMSON.
Oakland, Cal.