Dark and thorny is the desert,
Thro’ which pilgrims make their way;
But beyond this vale of sorrows
Lie the fields of endless day.
Fiends, loud howling thro’ the desert,
Make them tremble as they go;
And the fiery darts of Satan
Often bring their courage low.
O, young soldiers, are you weary
Of the troubles of the way?
Does your strength begin to fail you,
And your vigor to decay?
Jesus, Jesus, will go with you,
He will lead you to his throne;
He who dyed his garments for you,
And the winepress trod alone.
