A pilgrim through this lonely world
1
A pilgrim through this lonely world,
The blessed Saviour passed;
A mourner all his life was he,
A dying Lamb at last.
2
That tender heart that felt for all,
For all its life-blood gave;
It found on earth no resting-place,
Save only in the grave.
3
Such was our Lord; and shall we fear
The cross, with all its scorn?
Or love a faithless, evil world,
That wreathed his brow with thorn?