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255
THE PILGRIM OF EARTH.
I've a dreary land to journey through,
And a thorny way my feet pursue;
But I 've a glorious home in view,—
To the palace of my King I go!
My dearest Friend hath entered there,
Among its mansions to prepare
A place for me, if well I bear
This burden, and the Cross, below.
And a thorny way my feet pursue;
But I 've a glorious home in view,—
To the palace of my King I go!
My dearest Friend hath entered there,
Among its mansions to prepare
A place for me, if well I bear
This burden, and the Cross, below.
Here are shadowy shapes, and dazzling dreams,
'Mid the withering flowers, and failing streams,
And light, that false and fitful gleams
Through the mist and clouds, to mock my eye.
The poison wafted on the breeze
With languor all the frame will seize;
And he who sets him down for ease
Will sleep,—and he who sleeps must die!
'Mid the withering flowers, and failing streams,
And light, that false and fitful gleams
Through the mist and clouds, to mock my eye.
The poison wafted on the breeze
With languor all the frame will seize;
And he who sets him down for ease
Will sleep,—and he who sleeps must die!
But to that bright land of love I go,
With the fountains clear of ceaseless flow,
Where Sharon's Rose and Lily grow,
And the balm of life perfumes the air.
While drop no tears, no grave is seen,
To mar the fields of living green,—
No storms obscure the sky serene,—
No piercing thorns can wound me, there.
With the fountains clear of ceaseless flow,
Where Sharon's Rose and Lily grow,
And the balm of life perfumes the air.
While drop no tears, no grave is seen,
To mar the fields of living green,—
No storms obscure the sky serene,—
No piercing thorns can wound me, there.
256
When I 've reached my King and Father's door,
I shall hunger, thirst, and toil no more;
This frail old pilgrim garb I wore
Will be changed for raiment white as snow.
Through pearly gate, and golden street,
Will pass my now poor, aching feet,
A pure and shining throng to meet:—
The Prince of Peace hath told me so!
I shall hunger, thirst, and toil no more;
This frail old pilgrim garb I wore
Will be changed for raiment white as snow.
Through pearly gate, and golden street,
Will pass my now poor, aching feet,
A pure and shining throng to meet:—
The Prince of Peace hath told me so!
Now I'll gird me up, nor faint, nor fear,
When the darksome shadowy vale is near;
For he, I know, will there appear,
With his rod and staff, to comfort me.
The beaming glory of my Guide
Will light me to the other side;
And I shall live, since he hath died
From death's stern power to set me free.
When the darksome shadowy vale is near;
For he, I know, will there appear,
With his rod and staff, to comfort me.
The beaming glory of my Guide
Will light me to the other side;
And I shall live, since he hath died
From death's stern power to set me free.
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