As weary pilgrim, now at rest,
Hugs with delight his silent nest,
His wasted limbs now lie full soft
That miry steps have trodden oft,
Blesses himself to think upon
His dangers past, and travails done.
The burning sun no more shall heat,
Nor stormy rains on him shall beat;
The briars and thorns no more shall scratch,
Nor hungry wolves at him shall catch;
He erring paths no more shall tread,
Nor wild fruits eat instead of bread;
For waters cold he doth not long,
For thirst no more shall parch his tongue;
No rugged stones his feet shall gall,
Nor stumps nor rocks cause him to fall;
All cares and fears he bids farewell
And means in safety now to dwell.
A pilgrim I, on earth perplexed,
With sins, with cares and sorrows vexed,
By age and pains brought to decay,
And my clay house mould'ring away,
Oh, how I long to be at rest
And soar on high among the blest.
This body shall in silence sleep,
Mine eyes no more shall ever weep;
No fainting fits shall me assail,
Nor grinding pains my body frail,
With cares and fears ne'er cumbered be,
Nor losses know, nor sorrow see.
What though my flesh shall there consume,
It is the bed Christ did perfume;
And when a few years shall be gone,
This mortal shall be clothed upon.
A corrupt carcass down it lies,
A glorious body it shall rise.
In weakness and dishonor sown,
In power 'tis raised by Christ alone.
When we shall be where we would be,
Then we'll be what we cannot see.
A lasting rest I do pursue,
Here's to my pledge of suffering due;
Celestial world, my soul's delight,
My comfort day and joy by night.
The remnant of my days I'll spend,
Till my last hour of mortal breath,
In praises to my God and friend,
Who bought my soul by death.