A pilgrim through this lonely world

1A pilgrim through this lonely world,
The blessed Saviour passed;
A mourner all his life he was,
A dying Lamb at last.

2That tender heart that felt for all,
For all its life-blood gave;
It found on earth no resting-place,
Save only in the grave.

3Such was our Lord; and shall we fear
The cross, with all its scorn?
Or love a faithless, evil world,
That wreathed his brow with thorn?