1 O thanks, 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.

2 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.

3 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.

4 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.