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And one I saw, with sword and shield,
Who boldly braved the world’s cold frown,
And fought, unyielding, on the field,
To win an everlasting crown.
Though worn with toil, oppressed by foes,
No murmur from his heart arose;
I asked what buoyed his spirits up,
“O this!” said he—“the blessèd hope.”

And there was one who left behind
The cherished friends of early years,
And honor, pleasure, wealth resigned,
To tread the path bedewed with tears.
Through trials deep and conflicts sore,
Yet still a smile of joy he wore;
I asked what buoyed his spirits up,
“O this!” said he—“the blessèd hope.”

While pilgrims here we journey on
In this dark vale of sin and gloom,
Through tribulation, hate, and scorn,
Or through the portals of the tomb,
Till our returning King shall come
To take His exile captives home,
O! what can buoy the spirits up?
’Tis this alone—the blessèd hope.