From the fragrance of water it doth flourish, And hath made a crop as a plant.
And a man dieth, and becometh weak, And man expireth, and where [is] he?
If its root becometh old in the earth, And its stem doth die in the dust,
Thy mother [is] as a vine in thy blood by waters planted, Fruitful and full of boughs it hath been, Because of many waters.
its leaves [are] fair, and its budding great, and food for all [is] in it: under it take shade doth the beast of the field, and in its boughs dwell do the birds of the heavens, and of it fed are all flesh.