A Pilgrim Through This Lonely World

A pil­grim through this lone­ly world

The bless­èd Sav­ior passed;

A mourn­er all His life was He

A dy­ing Lamb at last

A dy­ing Lamb at last.

That ten­der heart that felt for all

For all its life blood gave;

It found on earth no rest­ing place

Save on­ly in the grave

Save on­ly in the grave.

Such was our Lord; and shall we fear

The cross with all its scorn?

Or love a faith­less

ev­il world

That wreathed His brow with thorn

That wreathed His brow with thorn?

No! fac­ing all its frowns or smiles

Like Him

obe­di­ent

still

We home­ward press through storm or calm

To Zi­on’s bless­èd hill

To Zi­on’s bless­èd hill.

By faith His bound­less glo­ries there

Our won­der­ing eyes behold;

Those glo­ries which eter­nal years

Shall nev­er all un­fold;

Shall nev­er all un­fold.