Far down the ages now,
Much of her journey done,
The pilgrim Church pursues her way,
Until her crown be won.
The story of the past
Comes up before her view;
How well it seems to suit her still,
Old, and yet ever new.
’Tis the repeated tale,
Of sin and weariness,
Of grace and love still flowing down
To pardon and to bless.
No wider is the gate,
No broader is the way,
No smoother is the ancient path
That leads to light and day.
No sweeter is the cup,
Nor less our lot of ill;
’Twas tribulation ages since,
’Tis tribulation still.
No slacker grows the fight,
No feebler is the foe,
Nor less the need of armor tried,
Of shield and spear and bow.
Thus onward still we press,
Through evil and through good,
Through pain and poverty and want,
Through peril and through blood.
Still faithful to our God,
And to our captain true,
We follow where He leads the way,
The Kingdom still our view.