THE WEARY PILGRIM by Mrs. L. E. Orton

International Tract and Missionary Society · Oakland, California · Feb 17, 1890

THE WEARY PILGRIM.

By Mrs. L. E. Orton

BY MRS. L. E. ORTON.

DEAR Lord, I lift my eyes to thee, As I am bending 'neath my cross; Will it never lighter be? Must all my road be marked by loss?

Youth's brilliant aims and fond desires Have proved to be but "ropes of sand;" The fruit that hung so tempting fair Has turned to ashes in my hand.

For love of thee, who died for all, I strive to act the Christian's part; To follow on at duty's call; But who can know the treacherous heart?

Impatient of my bruising cross, I shrink, and struggle to be free; Dear Healer, send some balm, I pray. I faint because rebuked of thee.

Like storm-spent gull far out at sea, I seek in vain some resting-place, 'Tween clouds above and waves beneath. Oh, show the brightness of thy face!

There comes a voice in accents low— Child of my care, lean thou on me; The cross may never lighter grow, But as thy day thy strength shall be.

Darkest night precedes the splendor Of that long-expected morn; And their crowns will gleam the brightest Who the heaviest cross have borne.