A Pilgrim Through This Lonely World

A Pilgrim through this lonely world

The blessed Saviour passed;

A Mourner through His life was He,

The dying Lamb at last.

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.

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?

No, facing all its frowns and smiles,

Like Him, obedient still,

We homeward press through storm or calm

To yon celestial hill.

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.

—Sir Edward Denny (1796-1889)