Page:Poems of Mrs. Frances B.M. Brotherson.djvu/27

The Pilgrim's hymn! It soundeth still
  On shore and surging sea;
The world doth sing its blessedness,
  A mighty minstrelsy!
On desert sands, in ice bound climes,
  Is heard its echoed tone,
In the calm joyfulness and peace
  The faithful heart hath known.
 
When failing bootsteps wander down
  Where death's dark waters glide,
It sounds above the rolling wave,
  Above the stormy tide.
It cheers the spirit through the vale,
  When earthly scenes grow dim,
And 'midst the shadows gathering there
  Is heard the Pilgrim's Hymn.

Undying, still its echoes float
  Up to the pearly gate,
Where ransomed souls pass gently in,
  And crowns no longer wait.
Amid the glittering, countless ranks,
  Evangels—cherubim—
The music of the white-robed throng
  Is still the Pilgrim's Hymn.