The Christian Pilgrim

 •  1 min. read
How lonely is the pilgrim’s lot,
By all around he seems forgot;
Though passing through a desert drear,
What joy to know that God is near.
Nothing on earth can joy afford,
But all is treasured in the Lord;
He looks beyond this vale of tears,
To One who quells his many fears.
As days and seasons pass away,
He’s often heard to sigh and say,
How sweet will be the rest above,
Where all is peace and joy and love.
And though so isolated here,
Not one will be a stranger there;
They bow before the eternal throne.
And give to God the praise alone.
The new eternal song of love,
That all will sing in courts above,
Now cheers his heart and makes him say,
My staff I’ll leave and soar away.
The pilgrim’s harp, on willows hung,
Will soon to joyful tunes be strung;
No note of discord then will be,
But joy through all eternity.
Why then should I so downcast be,
Since there is such a home for me?
This groaning scene will soon be past.
And every saint will meet at last.
Cheer up! cheer up! ‘twill soon be o’er,
And we shall meet on yonder shore;
With hands and hearts we’ll there embrace,
And sing forever of His grace.
E. G.