6 Prepare me, Lord, for thy right-hand,
Then come the joyful day,
Come death, and some celestial band,
To bear my soul away.
Hymn 2:53.
The pilgrimage of the saints; or, Earth and heaven.
1 Lord! what a wretched land is this
That yields us no supply!
No cheering fruits no wholesome trees,
Nor streams of living joy!
2 But pricking thorns thro' all the ground
And mortal poisons grow,
And all the rivers that are found
With dangerous waters flow.
3 Yet the clear path to thine abode
Lies thro' this horrid land;
Lord! we would keep the heavenly road,
And run at thy command.
4 [Our souls shall tread the desert thro'
With undiverted feet;
And faith and flaming zeal subdue
The terrors that we meet.]
5 [A thousand savage beasts of prey
Around the forest roam;
But Judah's lion guards the way,
And guides the strangers home.]
6 [Long nights and darkness dwell below,
With scarce a twinkling ray;
But the bright world to which we go
Is everlasting day.]
7 [By glimmering hopes and gloomy fears
We trace the sacred road,
Thro' dismal deeps and dangerous snares
We make our way to God.]
8 Our journey is a thorny maze,
But we march upward still;
Forget these troubles of the ways,
And reach at Zion's hill.