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THE PILGRIMS' HALT
Oh! a weary way we've marched, We are footsore, faint and parched, And we've fallen into woeful disarray; Let us linger here awhile, Where all around doth smile, And drink to those who've fallen by the way!
How numerous was our clan When our pilgrimage began, What a long unending column did our blithesome ranks comprise! But it dwindled day by day As the hardships of the way Subdued our ardent spirits and no Pisgah blessed our eyes.
Still on and on we strode, Though more toilsome grew the road, And our hearts grew faint within us and our sanguine spirits fled; For we nowhere found a sign That the land for which we pine Shall at last make glad our vision and echo to our tread.
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