1 What thousands never knew the road!
What thousands hate it when 'tis known!
None but the upright and sincere
Will seek or choose it for their own.
2 A thousand ways in ruin end,
One only leads to joys on high;
By that my willing steps ascend,
Pleased with a journey to the sky.
3 No more I ask, or hope to find
Delight or happiness below;
Sorrow may well possess the mind
That feeds where thorns and thistles grow.
4 The joy that fades is not for me,
I seek immortal joys above;
There glory, without end, shall be
The bright reward of faith and love.
Source: Book of Worship (Rev. ed.) #417