What poor des­pis­èd com­pa­ny
Of tra­vel­ers are these,
That walk in yon­der nar­row way,
Along that rug­ged maze?

Ah, these are of a roy­al line,
All child­ren of a king;
Heirs of im­mor­tal crowns di­vine,
And lo! for joy they sing.

Why do they then ap­pear so mean,
And why so much des­pis­èd?
Because of their rich robes un­seen,
The world is not ap­pris­èd.

But some of them seem poor dis­tressed,
And lack­ing dai­ly bread;
Ah, they’re of bound­less wealth pos­sessed,
With hid­den man­na fed.

But why keep they that nar­row road,
That rugg­ed thor­ny maze?
Why, that’s the way their lead­er trod,
They love and keep His ways.

Why must they shun the plea­sant path,
That world­lings love so well?
Because that is the road to death,
The op­en road to hell.

What, is there then no oth­er road,
To Sa­lem’s hap­py ground?
Christ is the on­ly way to God,
None oth­er can be found.