A STRANGER and a pilgrim here,
I wander in a foreign land;
My home, my Father’s house, is there,
Whither He leads me by His hand:
And I am longing for the day
When this dark night shall pass away.
I speak a language quite unknown,
And tread a path that’s dark and drear,
To those whose hopes are here alone;
But Jesus says, “Be of good cheer;
Though all should fail, my love can’t cease:
Seek not earth’s joys, I am thy peace.”
Trial by fire is the lot
Of those who tread the path He trod:
They reign not, if they suffer not,
For suffering is the will of God;
And, in the blackest, darkest hour,
Will He display His greatest power.
For, when with fiery trial tried,
He bids us thus rejoice in Him;
So one with Him should we abide,
Partakers of His suffering;
And, when the smoking furnace burns,
God’s shining lamp my soul discerns.
Yes, we rejoice to tread the road
That leads where Christ has gone before,
That brings us fellowship with God,
Like Enoch, in the days of yore;
We will receive no smiles, but scorns,
Where our dear Lord was crown’d with thorns.
Oh! if we did not see His face,
Our walk would be a dreary way;
Lord! may we never fail to trace
Thy footsteps marked in blood each day,
Until has passed this “little while,”
And Thou shalt greet us with Thy smile!
J. W. T.