Thirteenth Sunday after Trinity

"Who yonder on the desert heath
Complains in feeble tone? "—
"A pilgrim in the vale of death,
Faint, bleeding, and alone!"

"How cam'st thou to this dismal strand
Of danger, grief, and shame? "—
"From blessed Sion's holy land,
By folly led, I came!"

"What ruffian hand hath stript thee bare?
Whose fury laid thee low? "—
"Sin for my footsteps twined her snare,
And death has dealt the blow!"

"Can art no medicine for thy wound,
Nor nature strength, supply? "—
"They saw me bleeding on the ground,
And passed in silence by!"

"But, sufferer! is no comfort near
Thy terrors to remove? "—
"There is to whom my soul was dear,
But I have scorned His love."

"What if His hand were nigh to save
From endless death thy days?" —
"The soul He ransomed from the grave
Should live but to His praise."

"Rise, then, oh, rise! His health embrace,
With heavenly strength renewed;
And, such as is thy Saviour's grace,
Such be thy gratitude!"