When Israel's tribes were parch'd with thirst, <br />Forth from the rock the waters burst; <br />And all their future journey through <br />Yielded them drink, and Gospel too! <br /> <br />In Moses' rod a type they saw <br />Of his severe and fiery law; <br />The smitten rock prefigur'd Him <br />From whose pierc'd side all blessings stream. <br /> <br />But ah! the types were all too faint, <br />His sorrows or his worth to paint; <br />Slight was the stroke of Moses' rod, <br />But he endur'd the wrath of God. <br /> <br />Their outward rock could feel no pain, <br />But ours was wounded, torn and slain; <br />The rock gave but a wat'ry flood, <br />But Jesus pour'd forth streams of blood. <br /> <br />The earth is like their wilderness, <br />A land of drought and sore distress; <br />Without one stream from pole to pole, <br />To satisfy a thirsty soul. <br /> <br />But let the Saviour's praise resound; <br />In him refreshing streams are found, <br />Which pardon, strength, and comfort give; <br />And thirsty sinners drink and live.<br /><br />John Newton<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/that-rock-was-christ/
