A LONG DELIGHTFUL WALK.
Lonely pilgrim, art thou sinking
‘ Neath the weight of grief and care?
Bitter dregs of sorrow drinking
From the cup of dark despair?
Mourn not, for thy Master's footsteps
The same gloomy paths have trod
He has drained the cup of anguish,—
He, the mighty Son of God.
Does gaunt poverty surround thee,
With its pale and meagre train?
Do they gather closely round thee,
Want, and suffering and pain?
Mourn not, for the chilly dew-drops,
Fell upon thy Master's bed;
Mourn not, for the Prince of Glory
Had not where to lay his head!
Are thy kindred lowly lying
In the cold and silent tomb,
Heedless of thy plaintive sighing,
Heedless of thy grief and gloom?
Know thy Master's tears descended,
Where a dearly-loved one slept;
He knows well thy weight of sorrow;
Murmur not, for Jesus wept.
Do the friends that once caressed thee
Pass thee by with frowning brow?
Has the friendship that once blessed thee
Changed to bitter hatred now?
Weep not, for thy Masters brethren
In his sorrow turned aside,
Scorned to own that once they loved him;
Weep not,— Jesus was denied!
Does a scoffing world deride thee,
And expose to scorn and shame?
Do thy foes rise up beside thee,
Blast thy character and name?
Know thy Master was derided,
Scorned in Pilate's judgment-hall.
Mourn not; Christ, the great Redeemer,
Was despised and loathed by all.
Art thou torn with grief and anguish?
Racked with many a burning pain?
Does thy weary body languish?
Fearful pangs torment thy brain?
Murmur not; from Calvary's mountain
List thy Master's dying groan!
Murmur not; thy great Redeemer
Gave his life to save thine own!
Does the monster Death look dreary?
Fill thy mind with fears and gloom?
Does thy spirit, faint and weary,
Shrink in terror from the tomb?
Know thy Master's gone before thee,
Crossed the dark and narrow tide,
Disarmed Death of all his terrors:
Then fear not — thy Saviour died!
Yes, he died,— the Prince of Glory,—
Died upon the cursed tree;
Pilgrim, spread the joyful story:
Jesus died, and died for thee!
And he rose,— he rose triumphant,—
Burst the bars of death in twain.
Lonely pilgrim, that same Jesus
Will return to earth again!
See the first faint beams of morning
Chasing night and clouds away,
All the glorious sky adorning;
Pilgrim, it is break of day!
Rouse thee, pilgrim, weep no longer;
Let thy glad Hosanna ring!
Jesus comes in power and glory;
Hail thy Saviour and thy King!