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I saw the wayward traveler, in garments tattered clad, |
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And traveling up the Mountain, it seemed that he was sad. |
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His back was laden heavy, his strength was almost gone, |
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But he shouted as he journeyed, deliver ance will come. |
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Chorus: Then palms of victory, crowns of glory, |
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Palms of victory I shall wear. |
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The summer sun was shining, the sweat was on his brow, |
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His garments worn and dusty, his step seemed very slow. |
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But he kept pressing onward, for he was wending home, |
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Still shouting as he journeyed, deliverance will come. |
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The songsters in the arbor, that stood beside the way, |
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Attracted his attention, invited his delay. |
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His watchword being Onwards, he stopped his ears and ran, |
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And shouted as he journeyed, deliverance will come. |
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I saw him in the evening, the sun was getting low, |
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He had overtopped the mounting, and reached the vale below. |
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He saw the golden city, his everlasting home, |
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And shouted hosanna, deliverance will come. |
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While gazing on the city, just o'er the narrow flood, |
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A band of holy angels came from the throne of God, |
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They bore him on their pinions safe o'er the dashing foam, |
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And joined him in his triumph, Deliverance has come |
