_A Man of Sorrow._ (229)
A pilgrim through this lonely world,
The blessed Savior passed;
A mourner all his life was he,
A dying Lamb at last
2 That tender heart which felt for all,
For us 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?
4 No, facing all its frowns or smiles,
Like him obedient still,
We homeward press, through storm or calm,
To Zion's blessed hill.
H. Bonar.