O hap­py band of pil­grims,
If on­ward you will tread,
With Je­sus as your fel­low,
To Je­sus as your head.

O hap­py if you la­bor,
As Je­sus did for men;
O hap­py if you hun­ger
As Je­sus hun­gered then.

The cross that Je­sus car­ried
He car­ried as your due;
The crown that Je­sus wear­eth
He wear­eth it for you.

The faith by which you see Him,
The hope in which you yearn,
The love that through all trou­bles
To Him alone will turn.

What are they but fore­run­ners
To lead you to His sight?
What are they save the ef­flu­ence
Of un­cre­at­ed light?

The tri­als that be­set you,
The sor­rows you en­dure,
The ma­ni­fold temp­tations
That death alone can cure.

What are they but His jew­els
Of right ce­les­ti­al worth?
What are they but the lad­der
Set up to Heav’n on earth?

O hap­py band of pil­grims,
Look up­ward to the skies,
Where such a light af­flict­ion
Shall win you such a prize.

To Fa­ther, Son, and Spir­it,
The God whom we ad­ore,
Be lof­ti­est prais­es giv­en,
Now and for ev­er­more.