O thanks
A thousand times repeated
We know your names
Ye valiant
faithful two;
Your lowest words
Are like a song from Heaven;
Ye searched the land
Out better than ye knew.
When through the camp
There rings the cry for Egypt
And all the tribes
Sway backward in despair
We turn to you
Who bear the purple clusters
For still ye say
Surely the land is fair.
We pray you
friends
Walk closer still beside us
Talk with us often
Of the way ye took;
When ye beheld
The figs and pomegranates
And plucked the grapes
That grew by Eschol’s bank.
When doubts
like gloomy
Birds fly on before us
And clouds obscure
The path which must be trod
Speak low to us
Of Sinai and its glory
Repeat the name
Of Israel’s mighty God.
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