Prayers Of The Pilgrim
Who would true valour see, Let him come hither; One here will constant be, Come wind, come weather There’s no discouragement Shall make him once relent His first avowed intent To be a pilgrim. Whoso beset him round With dismal stories Do but themselves confound; His strength the more is. No lion can him fright, He’ll with a giant fight, He will have a right To be a pilgrim. Hobgoblin nor foul fiend Can daunt his spirit, He knows he at the end Shall life inherit. Then fancies fly away, He’ll fear not what men say, He’ll labor night and day To be a pilgrim.