Pilgrims in this land of shadows.
A land of darkness and of death,
Filled with labor and with sorrow—
Of time and innocence bereaved.

Ever increasing fear and harm,
Never-ceasing cares and alarm.
Faithfully withstanding life’s storm,
Until God speaks a word of calm.

Betimes to plod ‘neath skies of gray.
Betimes bearing the heat of May.
But always with a praise and song
To pack their tents and move along.

Heav’nward pilgrims, tho' betimes worn,
Seeking a city—with love adorned.