The Pilgrim

Still onward through this land of foes
I pass in pilgrim guise;
I may not stop to seek repose
Where cool the shadow lies;
I may not stoop amid the grass
To pluck earth’s fairest flowers,
Nor by her springing fountains pass
The sultry noontide hours;

Yet flowers I wear upon my breast
That no earth-garden knows—
White lilies of immortal peace,
And love’s deep-tinted rose;
And there the blue-eyed flowers of faith,
And hope’s bright buds of gold,
As lone I tread the upward path,
In richest hues unfold.

I keep my armour ever on,
For foes beset my way;
I watch lest, passing on alone,
I fall a helpless prey.
No earthly love have I—I lean
Upon no mortal breast;
But my Beloved, though unseen,
Walks near and gives me rest.

Afar, around, I often see,
Throughout this desert wide,
His pilgrims pressing on like me —
They often pass my side:
The kindly smile, the gentle word,
For Jesus’ sake I give;
But Love — O Thou alone adored!
For Thee alone I live.

Painful and dark the pathway seems
To distant earthly eyes;
They only see the hedging thorns
On either side that rise;
They cannot know how soft between
The flowers of love are strewn —
The sunny ways, the pastures green,
Where Jesus leads His own;

They cannot see, as darkening clouds
Behind the pilgrim close.
How far adown the western glade
The golden glory flows;
They cannot hear ‘mid earthly din
The song to pilgrims known.
Still blending with the angels’ hymn
Around the wondrous throne.

So I, Thy bounteous token-flowers
Still on my bosom wear;
While me, the fleeting love-winged hours
To Thee still nearer bear:
So from my lips Thy song shall flow,
My sweetest music be;
So on mine eyes the glory grow,
Till all is lost in Thee.