Thy dark and shadowy masses rise,
A solace to his weary eyes;
Then gladly on he wends, for he
Becomes refreshed at sight of thee;
For well he knows, that springs and fruit,
Above, below, thy sides salute;
For o'er the wastes of Rephidim,
There is no spot of peace for him,
Until he reach the rock, whence burst
A well, to quench the raging thirst