For works with similar titles, see The Wanderer.
THE WANDERER.
Pilgrim! whither dost thou roam,
Hast thou on the earth no home?
Is thy heart with sorrow riven?
Hast thou with misfortune striven?
Art thou care-worn, sad and weary?
Are life's pleasures dull and dreary?
Oh, yield thee not to dark despair,
Patiently thy sorrows bear:
There is an antidote to grief,
Look thou on high for that relief;
There dwells a God of boundless love,
And justice marks liis throne above.
To Him pour forth thy fervent prayer
Thou 'rt still the object of his care.
He dries the tears from mourner's eyes,
And bids the trembling spirit rise.
And though thy heart may faint for rest,
Let Heaven animate thy breast:
'Mid life's dark ills trace God's decrees,
And feel that mercy still thee sees;
Sees with an eye that never sleeps,—
Unwearied, watchful, near thee keeps:
Turn to that Holy One above,
Drink of the fount of endless love;
Arouse thee, fix thy thoughts on Heaven,
And taste the refuge grace hath given
Oh, may this cheer thy spirit's sight,
"His yoke is easy—burden light."
Hast thou on the earth no home?
Is thy heart with sorrow riven?
Hast thou with misfortune striven?
Art thou care-worn, sad and weary?
Are life's pleasures dull and dreary?
Oh, yield thee not to dark despair,
Patiently thy sorrows bear:
There is an antidote to grief,
Look thou on high for that relief;
There dwells a God of boundless love,
And justice marks liis throne above.
To Him pour forth thy fervent prayer
Thou 'rt still the object of his care.
He dries the tears from mourner's eyes,
And bids the trembling spirit rise.
And though thy heart may faint for rest,
Let Heaven animate thy breast:
'Mid life's dark ills trace God's decrees,
And feel that mercy still thee sees;
Sees with an eye that never sleeps,—
Unwearied, watchful, near thee keeps:
Turn to that Holy One above,
Drink of the fount of endless love;
Arouse thee, fix thy thoughts on Heaven,
And taste the refuge grace hath given
Oh, may this cheer thy spirit's sight,
"His yoke is easy—burden light."