The way and prospect of the Pilgrim.

DARK and thorny is the desert, Thro' which pilgrims make their way, Yet beyond this vale of sorrow Lie the fields of endless day; Fiends, loud howling thro' the desert, Make them tremble as they go: And the fiery darts of Satan Often brings their courage low.

Oh, young pilgrims, are you weary Of the roughness of the way? Does your strength begin to fail you, And your vigor to decay Jesus. Jesus will go with you, He will lead you to his throne; He who dyed his garments for you, And the wine-press trod alone.

He whose thunder shakes creation, He who bids the planets roll, He who rides upon the tempest, And whose sceptre sways the whole; Round him are ten thousand angels Ready to obey command, They are always hov'ring round you, Till you reach the heav'nly land.