I saw a wayward traveler in tattered garments clad,
And struggling up the mountain, it seemed that he was sad
His back was laden heavy, his strength was almost gone,
It [sic] shouted as he journeyed, ”Deliverance will come!”
Then palms of victory, crowns of glory,
Palms of victory I shall wear
The summer sun was shining, the sweat was on his brow,
His garments worn and dusty, his step seemed very slow
But he kept pressing onward, for he was wending home,
Still shouting as he journeyed, “Deliverance will come!”
The songstress in the arbor, that stood beside the way,
Attracted his attention, inviting his delay
His watchword being “Onward!” he stopped his ears and ran,
Still shouting as he journeyed, ”Deliverance will come!”
While gazing on that city, just o’er that narrow flood,
A band of holy angels came from the throne of God
They bore him on their pinions, they bore the dashing foam,
And joined him in his triumph, “Deliverance has come!”