I Saw One Weary

I saw one wea­ry

sad

and torn

With ea­ger steps press on the way

Who long the hal­lowed cross had borne

Still look­ing for the pro­mised day;

While ma­ny a line of grief and care

Upon his brow

was fur­rowed there;

I asked what buoyed his spir­its up

O this! said he—the bless­èd hope.

And one I saw

with sword and shield

Who bold­ly braved the world’s cold frown

And fought

un­yield­ing

on the field

To win an ev­er­last­ing crown.

Though worn with toil

op­pressed by foes

No mur­mur from his heart arose;

I asked what buoyed his spir­its up

O this! said he—the bless­èd hope.

And there was one who left be­hind

The cher­ished friends of ear­ly years

And hon­or

plea­sure

wealth re­signed

To tread the path be­dewed with tears.

Through tri­als deep and con­flicts sore

Yet still a smile of joy he wore;

I asked what buoyed his spir­its up

O this! said he—the bless­èd hope.

While pilg­rims here we jour­ney on

In this dark vale of sin and gloom

Through tri­bu­lation

hate

and scorn

Or through the por­tals of the tomb

Till our re­turn­ing King shall come

To take His ex­ile cap­tives home

O! what can buoy the spir­its up?

’Tis this alone—the bless­èd hope.