The Pilgrim
A pilgrim am I, on my way
To seek and find the Holy Land;
Scarce had I started, when there lay
And marched round me a fourfold band:
A smiling Joy, a weeping Woe,
A Hope, a Fear, did with me go;
And one may come, or one be gone;
But I am never more alone.
My little Hope, she pines and droops,
And finds it hard to live on earth;
But then some pitying angel stoops
To lift her out of frost and dearth,
And bears her on before, and up,
To taste, out of our Saviour’s cup,
Such cheer as here she cannot find,
While patiently I plod behind.
Thus oft I send her from below—
Poor little Hope—for change of air.
I miss her sorely; but I know
That God of her is taking care.
And when my earthly course is done,
To heaven’s gate I ’ll see her run
To meet me mid the shining bands,
With full fruition in her hands.
My Fear I give to Faith to still
With lullabies upon her breast.
She sings to him, “Our Father’s will,
Not ours, be done, for His is best,”
And lays him down to sleep in bowers—
Beneath the cross—of passion-flowers
But ever yet he wakes in pain,
And finds his way to me again.
But Woe,—she scarce will lose her hold.
She sits and walks and runs with me,
And watches. Ere the sun with gold
Pays to the East his entrance fee
She stirs, and stares me in the face,
And drives me from each stopping-place.
A guardian angel in disguise
Seems looking through her tearful eyes.
Perhaps she hath a charge from God
To see that ne’er, through Satan’s camp,
I slumber on my dangerous way
Too sound or long. A safety lamp
Meantime by Joy is carried nigh,
Somewhat aloof; for he is shy,
Too shy within my grasp to stay,
Though seldom is he far away.
Thus, fellow-pilgrims, fare we on;
But, in what mortals call my death,
My Fear is doomed to die anon;
When Woe shall leave me safe,—so saith
My sweet-voiced Hope,—and turn to bring
Some other soul; while Joy shall spring
With me through heaven’s strait door, to be
Forever of my company!