STILL onward through this land of foes

I pass in Pilgrim guise;

I may not stop to seek repose

Where cool the shadow lies;

I may not stoop amid the grass

To pluck earth’s fairest flowers,

Nor by her springing fountains pass

The sultry noontide hours.

Yet flowers I wear upon my breast

That no earth-garden knows—

White lilies of immortal peace,

And love’s deep-tinted rose;

And there the blue-eyed flowers of faith

And hope’s bright buds of gold,

As lone I tread the upward path.

 In richest hues unfold.

I keep mine armor ever on,

For foes beset my way;

I watch, lest passing on alone

I fall a helpless prey.

No earthly love have I—I lean

Upon no mortal breast;

But my Beloved, though unseen,

Walks near and gives me rest.

Painful and dark the pathway seems

To distant earthly eyes;

They only see the hedging thorns

             On either side that rise;               

They cannot know how soft between

The flowers of love are strewn.

The sunny ways, the pastures green.

Where Jesus leads His own;

They cannot see, as darkening clouds

Behind the Pilgrim close,

How far adown the western glade

The golden glory flows;

They cannot hear ‘mid earthly din

The song to Pilgrims known,

Still blending with the angels’ hymn

Around the wondrous throne.

So I Thy bounteous token-flowers

Still on my bosom wear;

While me the fleeting love-winged hours

To Thee still nearer bear;

So from my lips Thy song shall flow,

My sweetest music be;

So on mine eyes the glory grow,

Till all is lost in Thee

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