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HYMNS.
HYMN VIII.
The world is not their friend, nor the world's law.
Lo where a crowd of pilgrims toil
Yon craggy steeps among!
Strange their attire, and strange their mien,
As wild they press along.
Their eyes with bitter streaming tears
Now bend towards the ground,
Now rapt, to heaven their looks they raise,
And bursts of song resound.
And hark! a voice from 'midst the throng
Cries, "Stranger, wouldst thou know
Our name, our race, our destined home,
Our cause of joy or woe,—
