Classic Poem

Gentle Pilgrim, tell me why
Dost thou fold thine arms and sigh;
And wistful cast thine eyes around:
Whither, Pilgrim, art thou bound?

The road to Zion's gates I seek,
If thou canst inform me, speak.

Keep yon right-hand path with care,
Though crags obstruct and brambles tear;
You just discern a narrow track,
Enter there, and turn not back.

Say where that pleasant path-way leads,
Winding down yon flowery meads;
Song and dance the way beguiles,
Every face is drest in smiles.

Shun with care that flowery way,
'T will lead thee, Pilgrim, far astray.

Guide or counsel do I need?

Pilgrim, he who runs may read.

Is the way that I must keep
Cross'd by waters wide and deep?

Did it lead thro' floods and fire,
Thou must not stop—thou must not tire.

Till I have my journey past,
Tell me, will the day-light last?
Will the sky be bright and clear
Till the evening shades appear?

Tho the sun now rides so high,
Clouds may veil the evening sky:
Fast sinks the sun, fast wears the day,
Thou must not stop—thou must not stay,
God speed thee, Pilgrim, on thy way.