Which Jesus has trod,
Thy feeble ones wander,
Our Father, our God:
And the thick clouds that gather
But turn us away
From the wast, howling desert,
Where He could not stay.
From the cold world that knoweth
And loveth its own,
Where Jesus was hated,
Rejected, unknown,
We will cheerfully hasten,
Rejoicing to be
Counted worthy to suffer,
Lord Jesus, for Thee.
In the fierce hour that trieth
The children of men,
In the hour of temptation,
O succour us then!
Let the weak and the feeble
Find under Thine arm,
In the blast of the terrible,
Shelter from harm.
When the proud are exalted
And seated on high,
When trouble and desperate
Sorrow draw nigh,
When the hearts of all others
Are failing for fear,
Then we lift up our heads,
For the glory is near.
O hasten Thy coming!
We long for the day;
Bright Star of the morning
No longer delay;
Let the groaning creation
From sorrow be free,
And the purchased possession
Be gathered to Thee.