When Israel's tribes were parched with thirst,

When Israel's tribes were parched with thirst,
Forth from the Rock the waters burst;
And all their future journey through,
Yielded them drink and gospel too!

In Moses' rod, a type they saw,
Of his severe and fiery law;
The smitten rock prefigured him,
From whose pierced 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 endured 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 poured 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 Savior's praise resound!
In him refreshing streams are found;
Which pardon, strength, and comfort give,
And thirsty sinners drink and live.