R5752-253 Poem: Pilgrims All, In Solemn Haste

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::R5752 : page 253::


“Silent, like men in solemn haste,
Girded wayfarers of the waste,
We pass out at the world’s wide gate,
Turning our back on all its state;
We press along the narrow road
That leads to life, to bliss, to God.

“We cannot and we would not stay;
We dread the snares that throng the way;
We fling aside the weight and sin,
Resolved the victory to win;
We know the peril, but our eyes
Rest on the splendor of the prize.

“‘Tis but a little and we come
To our reward, our crown, our Home!
Another year, or more, or less,
And we have crossed the wilderness;
Finished the toil, the rest begun,
The battle fought, the triumph won!

“We grudge not, then, the toil, the way;
Its ending is the endless Day!
We shrink not from these tempests keen,
With little of the calm between;
We welcome each descending sun;
Ere morn our joy may be begun!”


— August 15, 1915 —