The pilgrimage cares and calamities past,
Divine compensation awaits us at last;
The desert her thistles and thorns shall
entomb;
The brier shall perish, the myrtle shall
bloom―
Destruction and death shall no longer
have place.
Once banished the field by the God of all
grace.
The pilgrimage cares and calamities now
May sadden the spirit and furrow the
brow,
The thorns and the thistles may harass
our feet,
And tears may be often our sorrowful
meat;
But every oppressor our Lord shall abase:
The trophies are we of the God of all
grace!
The pilgrimage cares and calamities prove
How sunshine the heaviest clouds can
remove.
Though weeping perchance may endure
for a night,
Joy comes in the morning and lasts with
the light.
Ah, when we the ways of His wisdom
retrace,
All glory we give to the God of all grace!