Dark and Thorny Is the Desert

Dark and thor­ny is the de­sert

Through which pil­grims make their way;

Yet be­yond this vale of sor­row

Lie the fields of end­less day.

Fiends loud howl­ing in the tem­pest

Make them trem­ble as they go—

And the fie­ry darts of Sa­tan

Often lay their cour­age low.

Oh! young sol­diers

do you mur­mur

At the trou­bles of the way?

Do your hearts be­gin to fail you

And your vi­gor to de­cay?

Jesus

Je­sus shall de­fend you—

He shall lead you to His throne

He that dyed His gar­ments for you

And the wine press trod alone.

He whose thun­der shakes cre­ation

He that bids the pla­nets roll

He who rides up­on the tem­pest

And whose scep­ter sways the whole;

Round Him see ten thou­sand angels

Ready to re­ceive com­mand;

They are ev­er watch­ing round you

’Till you reach the heav­en­ly land.

There

on flow­ery fields of plea­sure

And the hills of end­less rest—

Joy and peace and love

shall ev­er

Reign and tri­umph in your breast;

Who can paint the scenes of glo­ry

Where the ran­somed dwell on high

Where the gold­en harps for­ev­er

Sound re­demp­tion round the sky.

There a mill­ion flam­ing ser­aphs

Fly across the heav­en­ly plain;

There they sing im­mor­tal prais­es

Glory! Glory! is their strain.

But me­thinks a sweet­er con­cert

Makes the crys­tal arch­es ring

And a song is heard in Zi­on

Which the an­gels can­not sing!

See the heav­en­ly host in rap­ture

Gaze upon this shin­ing band—

Wondering at their cost­ly gar­ments

And the laur­els in their hand.

There up­on the gold­en pave­ment

See the ran­somed march along—

While the splen­did courts of glo­ry

Sweetly ec­ho to their song.

But me­thinks

in whit­er gar­ments

Some are march­ing on be­fore;

Oh! their crowns

how bright they spar­kle

Such as mon­archs nev­er wore.

They were shep­herds in My pas­tures

Faithful in My cause be­low;

They shall now

in peace for­ev­er

Sit on thrones as white as snow.

Round them see the lambs they ga­thered

See the flocks they fed with care;

Now they’re come to rich­er pas­tures;

Jesus is their shep­herd there.

Hail! ye hap­py

hap­py spir­its!

Death no more shall make you fear;

Sin and sor­row

pain and anguish

Shall no more dis­turb you there.

Sinners here shall not de­ride you

Tho’ they vexed you while be­low;

Now they’re gone

and gone for­ev­er

To the gulf of end­less woe.

Closed in that eter­nal pri­son

They can in­jure you no more;

Hell

alas

is all around them!

And eter­ni­ty be­fore!

There they find a God of jus­tice

Whom they once re­fused to fear;

There a lake of burn­ing sul­fur

Tho’ they dis­be­lieved it here;

Hark! me­thinks I hear from To­phet

Cries more dread­ful than the rest;

Some ap­pear in great­er ang­uish

And with sor­er ven­geance pressed.

Ah! they cry

we heard the Gos­pel

Where the Lord re­vived His cause;

Saw how num­bers bowed be­fore Him

Yet we still re­fused His laws.

We re­ject­ed ev­ery warn­ing—

Scorned the pe­ni­tent­ial tear;

We des­pised the calls of me­rcy—

Now we lie in fe­tters here.

Sinners

will you come to Je­sus?

Oh! that you would come to­day;

Come

be­fore the sword of ven­geance

Cuts you down up­on the way.

Soon the har­vest may be ga­thered

And the sheaves col­lect­ed home;

Then

in vain you’ll call for mer­cy

And

in vain

may wish to come.