San Andreas independent., 1857-11-28
Written for the San Andreas independently
The Children of Israel on the Plains Of
Marah

Marah.
On Marah's Plains the Hebrews stood.
With dark and scowling eve,
Each look'd upon the man of God,
AS slowly he passed by.
How sorrowful his lonely tread.
with streaming eye and downcast head,
As through the hosts he pass'd;
They mock d him who from Egypt's land,
Had brought them forth with mighty hand
And free, their fettcrs cast.
Yes then as now, ingratitude.
That deadliest of all sin.
Was stamp'd upon the multitude,
OF those unholy men.
No thankfulness for wondrous power,
To Israel wrought by God each hour.
When slaves to tyrant's chains
They thought not of the power great,
That made the Egyptian desolate,
And brought them on those Plains.
They thought not of their passage through
The Red Seas rolling wave,-
Which lay cen now within their view;
Of Pharaoh's hosts, the grave
But listen to their doubling moans,
Their faithless shrieks-dcspairing groans,
Their sinful, wicked cry
Oh lead us back to Egypts wells,
Where nought so bitter as this dwells,
Give water or we die.
Then, Moses prayed and oh that prayer
With fervent faith he pressd,
And voices spake on the silent air
And Calmed his sorrowing breast.
" Behold We murmuring, faithless race,
Deserving not so great grace
\ rod into the well he cast,
And soon the waters, fresh and sweet
Rose up, their parching lips to greet
Like SHOWS, their grief was past.
How true the picture here presents
The scenes that mark life's way
The sorrowing heart to JOY relents,
As grief will pass away;
And though a thousand times we feel
The might of God itself reveal,
And mark, in every case,
In which we're placed, how greatly good
In Mercy and in Love, is God
In ovcrfowing grace,
Yet still we doubt; and murmur still
If one small cloud arise
To cross our wayward hopes, or will,
Or dim our Life's bright skies.
We trust not; hope not for the best,
But murmuring in our souls unrest.
How little do we learn
To think of benefits now passed,
Which DER our souls should ever cast
light to breathe and burn.
And is there now no Marah's well.
No swelling fount of wo,
Whose streams with bitterness will swell,
Whose waves with sorrow flow?
Hast thou not felt the darken'd cloud
of misery thy pathway shroud,
And shut out from thy sky
Each joy that cheered thy pathway here,
Each hope that would to thee appear
Like stars to glad thine eye?
Art thou Christian? has the hope
That oft in thee would rise
To lift thy longing spirit up
To fair and sunny skies,
Been darken'd by saddened thought
Which DER thy Life a change has wrought,
For aye in thee has dwelt,
Enshrouding all, as in tomb
OF wo, of sorrow, with a gloom
Like Egypt's darkness felt?
Art thou MANI has ne'er the night
OF sorrow DER thee stole?
Has Ee'er afflctions with'ring blight
Sat darkly on thy soul
Hast thou the pains of life e'er borne,
Her Calling chains hast thou cer worn,
Nor found a resting place
On which thy soul, like Noah's dove,
Could rest and look with hope above,
Amid this bowling waste?
Oh, thou hast felt grief's gloomy frown,
And thou hast felt the chill
Of sorrow bow thy spirit down,
And through thy bosom thrill
All these find source from Marah's stream,
And bitter, bitter, is the dream
Of life, when from its wave,
With sadness, all its woes we drink
Or kneelng at its barren brink,
Our spirits lips we lave.
ANNA.
SAN AyDREAs, November Goth, 1857