The Pilgrim

Who would true valor see,

Let him come hither!

One here will constant be,

Come wind, come weather;

There's no discouragement

Shall make him once relent

His first-avowed intent

To be a Pilgrim.

Whoso beset him round

With dismal stories,

Do but themselves confound

His strength the more is.

No lion can him fright;

He'll with a giant fight;

But he will have a right

To be a Pilgrim.

Hobgoblin, nor foul fiend,

Can daunt his spirit;

He knows he at the end

Shall Life inherit:—

Then, fancies, fly away;

He'll not fear what men say;

He'll labor night and day,

To be a Pilgrim.