PILGRIMAGE.
These all died in faith, not having received the promises, but having seen them afar off, and were persuaded of them, and embraced them, and confessed that they were strangers and pilgrims on the earth.
For they that say such things declare plainly that they seek a country.—Hebrews, xi. 13, 14.
Dearly beloved, I beseech you, as strangers and pilgrims, abstain from fleshly lusts, which war against the soul.—I. Peter, ii. 11.
Give me my scallop-shell of quiet,
My staff of faith to walk upon;
My scrip of joy, immortal diet;
My bottle of salvation;
My gown of glory, (hope’s true gage,)
And thus I’ll take my pilgrimage.
Blood must be my body’s only balmer
Whilst my soul, like a quiet Palmer,
Travelleth towards the land of Heaven;
No other balm will there be given.
Sir W. Raleigh.
From darkness, here, and dreariness,
We ask not full repose;
Only be Thou at hand to bless
Our trial hour of woes.
Is not the pilgrim’s toil o’erpaid
By the clear rill and palmy shade?
And see we not up earth’s dark glade,
The gate of Heaven unclose?
Keble.
While his staff the traveller handles
In his weary journeying,
Thorns may tear his dusty sandals,
Fangs his tender feet may sting;
But were life devoid of pain,
Bliss were proffered man in vain.
Look aloft, where light is breaking
Through this doubt-enveloped sky—
Forward leap, the joy partaking,
Of a higher destiny.
Lift thy staff, and move apace
In the pilgrim-thronging race.
T. G. Spear.
There is a light on the hills, and the valley is past!
Ascend, happy pilgrim! thy labours are o’er!
The sunshine of Heaven around thee is cast,
And thy weak, doubting footsteps can falter no more.
On, pilgrim! that hill richly circled with rays
Is Zion! Lo, there is the “city of saints!”
And the beauties, the glories, that region displays,
Inspiration’s own language imperfectly paints.
Mrs. Opie.
Pilgrim, burden’d with thy sin,
Come the way to Zion’s gate,
There, till mercy speaks within,
Knock, and weep, and watch, and wait.
Knock—he knows the sinner’s cry;
Weep—he loves the mourner’s tears;
Watch—for saving grace is nigh;
Wait—till heavenly grace appears.
Hark, it is thy Saviour’s voice,
“Welcome pilgrim to thy rest.”
Now within the gate rejoice,
Safe, and own’d, and bought, and blest.
Safe—from all the lures of vice;
Own’d—by joys the contrite know;
Bought—by love and life the price;
Blest—the mighty debt we owe.
Holy pilgrim what for thee,
In a world like this remain?
From thy guarded breast shall flee
Fear, and shame, and doubt and pain.
Fear—the hope of heaven shall flee;
Shame—from glory’s view retire;
Doubt—in full belief shall die;
Pain—in endless joy expire.
Crabbe.
We journey through a vale of tears
By many a cloud o’ercast;
And worldly cares, and worldly fears,
Go with us to the last!
Not to the last—Thy word hath said,
Could we but read aright;
Poor Pilgrim! lift, in hope, thy head;
At eve there shall be light.
Bernard Barton.