He had promised to himself in the morning to
be at home early, having overcome all his enemies--but
'the noise of battle is yet in the country
where I live.' He is sometimes afraid even that
he has not yet received 'efficacious grace,' and
that his sins may yet win the day. What can he
do but pray God to lift him out of the pit? And
even if it is growing late, he must wait until 'the
Morning Star rise over yonder hills.' His trial,
too, had bound him in sweet fellowship with all
who strive upward to God:
Much I love the faithful pilgrims,
Who the rugged steeps ascend;
On their hands and knees they labour
To attain the heavenly end:
To the summit
On my knees shall I come too.
Bruisèd hands, oh! stretch ye upward,
Tired feet, walk ye with care;
The reward, the crown is yonder,
My Belovèd--He is there!
Now the journey's end is all.