Through the Midbar stride the Kohathites,
And they bear the holiest things,
Gilded staves upon their shoulders,
Which are fed through golden rings.
Not with wagons, you families of Amrom,
Yitzhar, Hevron, and Uzziel,
Your conveyance is but brawn and bone,
Your strength not known to fail.
Moshe’s sons serve among the bearers,
These grandsons of Yisro and Amrom,
Humbler, in a way, than their father,
For their tale does not go on.