That Rock was Christ

When Israel's tribes were parch'd with thirst, Fo

In Moses' rod a type they saw Of his severe and fiery law; The smitten rock prefigur'd Him From whose pierc'd side all blessings stream

But ah! the types were all too faint, His sorrows or his worth to paint; Slight was the stroke of Moses' rod, But he endur'd the wrath of God.

Their outward rock could feel no pain, But ours was wounded, torn and slain; The rock gave but a wat'ry flood, But Jesus pour'd forth streams of blood.

The earth is like their wilderness, A land of drought and sore distress; Without one stream from pole to pole, To satisfy a thirsty soul.

But let the Saviour's praise resound; In him refreshing streams are found, Which pardon, strength, and comfort give; And thirsty sinners drink and live.

This article was made available on the internet via REFORMATION INK (\*HYPERLINK "www.markers.com/ink"www.markers.com/ink). Refer any correspondence to Shane Rosenthal: Rosenthal2000@aol.com