1 A PILGRIM through this lonely world
The blessed Saviour passed;
A mourner through His life was He,
The dying Lamb at last.
2 That tender heart which felt for all,
For all its life-blood gave;
It found on earth no resting-place
Save only in the grave.
3 Such was our Lord; and shall we fear
The cross with all its scorn,
Or court a faithless evil world
That wreathed His brow with thorn?
4 No, facing all its frowns or smiles,
Like Him, obedient still,
We homeward press through storm or calm
To yon celestial hill.
5 Dead to the world with Him who died
To win our hearts, our love,
We, risen with our Lord and Head
In spirit dwell above.
