Then the Quail Came

Michael Blanchard

There we were, out on a desert, wishing we never had come
Homes on our backs, dust in our hair, cursing the day we'd begun

"Tell me I ask you," a friend of mine said,
"Was it so bad where we were?"
"We sure didn't need to come here to be dead, was what we had so unsure?"

    Then the quail came, falling like dew on the ground
    The quail came, each evening our food to be found
    And taking our curses and turning 'em round
    And filling our ears with those ungrateful sounds
    Unworthy to stand
    I bow down

There we were, angry and naked, looking for someone to blame
Our bodies were aching, babies were crying
And each day was so much the same

"I tell you people, this journey is pointless."
I heard someone say in his rage
"How long will it be 'till we come to our senses
And get back to where we were safe?"

 Then the quail came, falling like dew on the ground
    The quail came, each evening our food to be found
    And taking our curses and turning 'em round
    And filling our ears with those ungrateful sounds
    Unworthy to stand
    I bow down

Here we are, alone on a desert, fed dawn to dark, dusk to day
Each morning we wake up. to find just the measure
Of food we'll require for the way

Oh once I'd have asked just a little bit more
To insure that our future survived
But  now I know now at last, that the only thing sure
Is that at evening the quail will arrive
   
Then the quail came, falling like dew on the ground
    The quail came, each evening our food to be found
    And taking our curses and turning 'em round
    And filling our ears with those ungrateful sounds
    Unworthy to stand
    I bow down
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The words to this wonderful song, written by Michael Blanchard and sung, as far as I know, only by Noel Stookey, speak to me of the kind of provision we've known all our lives.  When, in the midst of our discontent and complaining, His generosity arises, how can we but bow down?