THE TRAVELLING PILGRIM.
I have no friends, no helper nigh,
But He who heard the raven’s cry;
My father’s house I’ve bid adieu,
And on my journey I pursue.
My sister wonders where I am,
But I shall not return again;
My sisters, brothers, think it strange
That I should leave my nearest friends.
But my kind friends I now must leave,
And on my journey I proceed,
To attend an appointment I have made,
To find a place to lay my head.
And if poor sinners did but know
How much for them I undergo,
They would not treat me with contempt,
Nor curse me when I say “repent.”
But O! the trials of my heart,
Through rain, through snow, I have to go,
And when I’m called to leave this flesh,
I trust with Jesus Christ to rest.