At evening’s hush, the quail took flight, A covering gift in desert night. By dawn’s first glow, the dew withdrew, And heaven’s flakes lay white and new.
“What is it?” hearts in wonder cried, Yet Moses spoke, the Lord supplied: “Take what you need, no more, no less, Each tent shall taste His faithfulness.”
But fear held tight in secret hands, And worms arose where doubt still stands. The sun grew hot, the manna waned, A daily trust was all that remained.
So life is given, fresh each day, not stored in fear, nor swept away. Bread of the morning, gift of grace, enough for all in desert place.
Care To Plant 