Anne Bradstreet

As Weary Pilgrim

As weary pilgrim, now at rest,   
Hugs with delight his silent nest
His wasted limbs, now lie full soft   
That mirey steps, have trodden oft,
Blesses himself to think upon   
His dangers past, and travails done.
The burning sun no more shall heat   
Nor stormy rains on him shall beat.
The briars and thorns no more shall scratch,   
Nor hungry wolves at him shall catch.
He erring paths no more shall tread,   
Nor wild fruits eat, instead of bread.
For waters cold he doth not long   
For thirst no more shall parch his tongue.
No rugged stones his feet shall gall,   
Nor stumps nor rocks cause him to fall.
All cares and fears he bids farwell   
And means in safety now to dwell.
A pilgrim I, on earth, perplexed   
With sins wth cares and sorrows vext,
By age and pains brought to decay,   
And my clay house mould'ring away.
Oh, how I long to be at rest   
And soar on high among the blest.
This body shall in silence sleep,   
Mine eyes no more shall ever weep,
No fainting fits shall me assail,   
Nor grinding pains my body frail,
With cares and fears ne'er cumb'red be   
Nor losses know, nor sorrows see.
What though my flesh shall there consume,   
It is the bed Christ did perfume,
And when a few yeares shall be gone,   
This mortal shall be clothed upon.
A corrupt carcass down it lays,   
A glorious body it shall rise.
In weakness and dishonour sown,   
In power 'tis raised by Christ alone.
Then soul and body shall unite   
And of their Maker have the sight.
Such lasting joys shall there behold   
As ear ne'er heard nor tongue e'er told.
Lord make me ready for that day,   
Then come, dear Bridgroom, come away.

spoken= Linsay Rousseau