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The Distressed Pilgrim,
Who being in much Misery,
He serves the Lord most faitfully:
And repenteth for the things are past,
And prayes for a Heavenly place at last.
The Tune is, Who can blame my VVoe; Or, I am a Jovial Batchelor.
[illustration]
I Am a Pilgrim poor and bare,
in trouble I am crost,
And many a hard hap falls my share;
my Substance all is lost:
My misery ther's no man knows,
so numberless they be;
Yet in the midst of all my Woes,
Let Patience work for me.
Pray understand, I once had Land,
with Corn and Cattle store,
But now 'tis gone out of my hand,
i'm grown exceeding poor;
So poor indeed, ther's few that will
relieve my misery:
But as I said before, so I say still,
let, &c.
My flattering Friends and Kinsfolks all,
whom I did dayly feed,
Will not so much as turn aside,
to help my extream need,
They'd rather seek to scoff and scorn,
and jeer my Poverty;
Although I am as one forlorn,
let, &c.
Patience is an Herb of Grace,
if a Man doth use it well,
Twill lay a Stomach in short space
that doth with Poyson swell;
Twill cure a Mad-man of his Evil,
'Twill cause the Blind to see,
It will expel and vanquish th' Devil;
let, &c.
NOw in the midst of all my Woes,
what shall I do or say?
Shall I despair in any case,
or make my self away?
No, no, not while this Vital Breath,
which the Lord God lended me;
Come Woe or Wealth, come Life or Death;
For a patient man I'le be.
As I do wander up and down
in sorrow, I am crost;
From Place to Place, from Town to Town,
my Substance is all lost:
But yet I think within my self,
as I shall tell to ye,
Though God hath taken all my Wealth,
yet patience works for me.
Give not your Friends and Kinsfolks ne'r
your means while you do live;
For that hath brought me to this care:
which makes my heart to grieve:
I gave them Goods and Cattle too,
as all my Neighbours see;
But now they don't regard my woe,
yet, &c.
The Devil he is busie still,
to bring me to his Bow;
But it is Gods hlessed Will,
patience doth with me go,
And kéeps me in the Fear of God,
for a second Job to be;
Although I tast of's Holy Rod,
yet, &c.
For to despair, it's a Foolishness,
'tis God that is my stay,
Who gave me Life, and when be please
can take again away.
The Lord he suffer'd for my sins,
as th' Scripture sheweth me;
God give me Grace to think on it,
and patience, &c.
Though i'm in want and misery,
I hope God will be pleas'd
For to release this slavery,
in Heaven for to be eas'd:
'Tis the bravest thing i'th World
to suffer then I see;
And though i'm poor and in distress,
yet, &c.
I hope my steadfast Faith is so,
il'e not forsake my God;
Though Poverty hath brought me low,
i'le not forsake his Word.
It's for sins I do confess,
he suffered on the Tree,
To Release poor Sinners from redness,
and eke from misery.
And now adieu unto the World,
with all my sorrows that are past,
And give every one Grace in the end
to enjoy a Heavenly Rest:
Because all things do fade away,
and vanish we do see,
God give us all his Grace I say,
to be Patient in misery.