Weary Pilgrim by Abigail Clark

The Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · May 1, 1866

Weary Pilgrim.

By Abigail Clark

Lone, weary pilgrim! why weep'st thou in sadness? Let the bright dawning future, rouse thee to gladness, For time on swift pinions, is fleeting away. Though Satan's wild legions surround thee with sorrow, Let faith lift the vail, to brighten the morrow— Awake from thy slumber, and welcome the day.

What are earth's charms? A gay, tinselled bubble! As phantoms elude you, or fire o'er the stubble, Thus flee on approaching all earth's gilded toys, Though earth's fairest scenes, should tempt thee to wander, 'Mid hope's fairy bowers, thy precious time squander, They ne'er can compensate for Heaven's lost joys.

Though spicy the breeze, o'er the landscape soft smiling, From the bowers of pleasure, vain hearts beguiling, 'Tis the net-work of Satan, to lure thee to death, And music's rich strains, in soft cadence are stealing, The mind in rapt ease, entrance every feeling, Deceitful all charms, with terrestrial breath.

Flowers of rich fragrance, with dew drop begemming, Breathe not their odor—but the mad torrent stemming More deadly their breath, than the famed Upas tree! More fatal than Simoon, those roses of pleasure, They are sin's blighting pomps, earth's fading treasure, E'er hurled to destruction those mad pleasures flee.

Seek heavenly joys, with bright hope expanding, With faith for your shield, on Christ firmly standing, And rush on to glory, from sin's witching wiles! Though drear seems the way, and friends proudly scorning, A crown shall enwreathe—thy temples adorning, Where radiant landscapes, unceasingly smile.

Beseech in strong prayer, to Heaven appealing, E'er death's scathing grasp, o'er his victim is stealing, Strive fierce for those mansions, where joys never die, Shun not the conflict, there are angels protecting, And God's Holy Spirit, thy efforts directing— Though trials attend thee, on Jesus rely.

Christ's heralds are sounding the last solemn warning! Soon will dawn in thy vision, the bright rosy morning, And the seraphim throng, all glittering and fair, For soon He is coming, bright angels surrounding, Hallelujahs shouting! The trumpet is sounding— While loud pealing anthems float sweet on the air.

As the heavenly host, earth-ward are wending, With the song of redemption, music is blending, And the silver-toned lyre softly echoes the strain, Then wake weary pilgrim! awake from thy sadness, And gird on thy armor, with zeal and with gladness, For soon will the ransomed in Paradise reign. ABIGAIL CLARK.