“Who is this that cometh up from the wilderness, leaning upon her beloved?"
OH! what a lonely path were ours,
Could we, O Father, see
No home of rest beyond it all,
No guide or help in thee!
But thou art near, and with us still,
To keep us on the way
That leads along this vale of tears,
To the bright world of day.
There shall thy glory, O our God,
Break fully on our view;
And we, thy saints, rejoice to find
That all thy word was true.
There Jesus, on his heavenly throne,
Our wond'ring eyes shall see;
While we the blest associates there
Of all his joy shall be.
Sweet hope!—we leave without a sigh
A blighted world like this;
To bear the cross, despise the shame,
For all that weight of bliss.
Yet little do thy saints at best
Endure, O Lord, for thee;
Whose suffering soul bore all our sins
And sorrows on the tree;
Who faced our fierce, our ruthless foe,
Unaided and alone;
To win us for thy crown of joy,
To raise us to thy throne.