When Is­ra­el sins, the Lord re­proves
And fills their hearts with dread;
Yet He for­gives the men He loves,
And sends them heav’n­ly bread.
He fed them with a lib­er­al hand,
And made His trea­sures known;
He gave the mid­night clouds com­mand
To pour pro­vi­sion down.

The man­na, like a morn­ing show­er,
Lay thick around their feet
The corn of Heav’n, so light, so pure,
As though ’twere an­gels’ meat.
But they in mur­mur­ing lang­uage said,
Manna is all our feast;
We loathe this light, this airy bread;
We must have flesh to taste.

Ye shall have flesh to please your lust,
The Lord in wrath re­plied,
And sent them quails like sand or dust,
Heaped up from side to side.
He gave them all their own de­sire,
And gree­dy as they fed,
His ven­geance burnt with sec­ret fire,
And smote the re­bels dead.

When some were slain, the rest re­turned
And sought the Lord with tears;
Under the rod they feared and mourned,
But soon for­got their fears.
Oft He chas­tised and still fo­rgave,
Till, by His gra­cious hand,
The na­tion He re­solved to save
Possessed the pro­mised land.