A Pilgrim through this lonely worldThe 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)