MARAH by Mrs. L. D. A. Stuttle

International Tract and Missionary Society · Oakland, California · Aug 26, 1889

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 15, No. 33.

MARAH.

By Mrs. L. D. A. Stuttle

BY MRS. L. D. A. STUTTLE.

Once upon my weary journey O'er a desert, drear and cursed, Nought but Marah's bitter waters There appeared, to mock my thirst, Till I longed to see the border Of death's mighty river wide, And to lose my sense of sorrow 'Neath its solemn, silent tide.

Once my life was full of sunshine, And my heart o'erflowed with song, And in happy mood I mingled With the gay and careless throng; But the hand of sorrow touched me, With its chilling finger tips, And my brimming cup of gladness Turned to gall upon my lips.

Once I had a hope of Heaven, But the tempter came this way, And I sold my precious birthright— On a well remembered day, Sold it for a mess of pottage, Sold it for an honored name, And I bartered hope and Heaven For the shining bauble—Fame.

Once I heard an angel whisper, "Careless wanderer, thou dost roam, Following earth's bright ignis fatuus; Come, and I will guide thee home; Come, and I will be thy day-star, Guiding thee to realms of bliss." But I sold my hope of Heaven For a fleeting world like this.

Then the angel sadly left me, And my heart grew hard and cold. And I wandered in the gloaming, Farther from the Shepherd's fold. Fame and friends, and fickle fortune, In a moment left my side, Till by God and man forsaken, In my agony I cried,—

"Oh for just one word of pardon, Oh for one sweet pitying tone, Is there—is there hope of Heaven? Must I perish all alone?" Then my bleeding Saviour whispered, As he drew me to his breast, "Thou shalt be no more called 'Marah,' Weary soul, I'll give thee rest."

Bancroft, Mich.