Dark and thorny is the desert,
Through which pilgrims make their way;
But beyond this vale of sorrows
Lie the fields of endless day.
Fiends, loud howling through the desert,
Make them tremble as they go;
And the fiery darts of Satan
Often bring their courage low.
O, young soldiers, are you weary
Of the troubles of the way?
Does your strength begin to fail you,
And your vigor to decay?
Jesus, Jesus, will go with you,
He will lead you to his throne;
He who dyed his garments for you,
And the wine press trod alone.
He whose thunder shakes creation,
He who bids the planets roll;
He who rides upon the tempest,
And whose sceptre sways the whole.
Round him are ten thousand angels,
Ready to obey command;
They are always hovering round you,
Till you reach the heavenly land.
There, on flowery hills of pleasure,
In the fields of endless rest,
Love, and joy, and peace shall ever
Reign and triumph in your breast.
Who can paint those scenes of glory,
Where the ransomed dwell on high?
Where the golden harps for ever
Sound redemption through the sky?
Millions there of flaming seraphs
Fly across the heavenly plain;
There they sing immortal praise--
Glory! glory! is their strain:
But methinks a sweeter concert
Makes the heavenly arches ring,
And a song is heard in Zion
Which the angels cannot sing.
See the heavenly host, in rapture,
Gaze upon this shining band;
Wondering at their costly garments,
And the laurels in their hand!
There, upon the golden pavement,
See the ransomed march along,
While the splendid courts of glory
Sweetly echo to their song.
O their crowns, how bright they sparkle!
Such as monarchs never wear;
They are gone to heavenly pastures--
Jesus is their Shepherd there.
Hail, ye happy, happy spirits!
Welcome to this blissful plain!--
Glory, honor, and salvation!
Reign, sweet Shepherd, ever reign.