Pilgrims in this land of shadows.
A land of darkness and of death,
Filled with labor and with sorrow—
Of time and innocence bereaved.
Ever increasing fear and harm,
Never-ceasing cares and alarm.
Faithfully withstanding life's storm
Until God speaks a word of calm.
Betimes to plod ‘neath skies of gray.
Betimes bearing the heat of May.
But always with a praise and song
To pack our tents and move along.
Heav'nward pilgrims, tho' betimes worn,
Seeking a city—with love adorned.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem