XXXVI. The Pilgrimage of the Saints

1 Lord what a wretched Land is this,
That yields us no supply;
No cheering Fruits, no wholesome Trees,
Nor Streams of living Joy.

2 But pricking Thorns thro' all the Ground,
And mortal Poisons grow;
And all the Rivers that are found,
With dang'rous Waters flow.

3 Yet the dear Path to thine abode
Lies thro' this horrid Land:
Lord! we would keep the heavenly Road,
And run at thy Command.

4 Our Souls shall tread the Desart thro',
With undiverted Feet;
And Faith and flaming Zeal subdue
The Terrors that we meet.

5 A thousand savage Beasts of Prey,
Around the Forest roam;
But Judah's Lion guards the Way,
And guides the Strangers home.

6 Long Nights and Darkness dwell below,
With scarce a twinkling Ray,
But the bright World to which we go
Is everlasting Day.

7 By glimm'ring Hopes and gloomy Fears,
We trace the sacred Road,
Thro' dismal Deeps, and dang'rous Snares,
We make our Way to God.

8 Our Journey is a thorny Maze,
But we march upward still,
Forget these Troubles of the Ways,
And reach at Zion's Hill.

[9 See the kind Angels at the Gates,
Inviting us to come;
There Jesus the Forerunner waits
To welcome Trav'lers home.

10 There on a green and flow'ry Mount,
Our weary Souls shall sit,
And with transporting Joys recount,
The Labours of our Feet.

11 Eternal Glories to the King
That brought us safely through;
Our Tonguse shall never cease to sing,
And endless Praise renew.

Text Information
First Line: Lord what a wretched Land is this
Title: The Pilgrimage of the Saints
Language: English
Publication Date: 1774
Tune Information
(No tune information)



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