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Wednesday, April 1, 2009

As Weary Pilgrim

I was sorting through old files on my computer last night, when I ran across this poem that my children and I studied together in high school. I love the clear picture she paints of this road weary pilgrim, as well as the hope and solid understanding of truth she conveys. Anne Bradstreet was a Puritan who lived in the 1600's.

As Weary Pilgrim
Anne Bradstreet

As weary pilgrim, now at rest
Hugs with delight his silent nest
His wasted limbes, now lye full soft
That myrie steps, have troden oft
Blesses himself, to think upon
His dangers past, and travailes done
The burning sun no more shall heat
Nor stormy raines, on him shall beat.
The bryars and thornes no more shall scratch
Nor hungry wolves at him shall catch
His erring pathes no more shall tread
Nor wild fruits eate, in stead of bread,
For waters cold he doth not long
For thirst no more shall parch his tongue
No rugged stones his feet shall gaule
Nor stumps nor rocks cause him to fall
All cares and feares, he bids farwell
And meanes in safity now to dwell.
A pilgrim I, on earth, perplext
With sinns with cares and sorrows vext
By age and paines brought to decay
And my Clay house mouldring away
O how I long to be at rest
And soare on high among the blest.
This body shall in silence sleep
Mine eyes no more shall ever weep
No fainting fits shall me assaile
Nor grinding paines my body fraile
With cares and fears ne'r cumbred be
Nor losses know, nor sorrowes see
What tho my flesh shall there consume
It is the bed Christ did perfume
And when a few yeares shall be gone
This mortal shall be cloth'd upon
A Corrupt Carcasse downe it lyes
A glorious body it shall rise
In weaknes and dishonour sowne
In power 'tis rais'd by Christ alone
Then soule and body shall unite
And of their maker have the sight
Such lasting joyes shall there behold
As eare ne'r heard nor tongue e'er told
Lord make me ready for that day
Then Come deare bridgrome Come away.

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