If unto Jesus thou art bound,

If unto Jesus thou art bound,
A crowd about him will be found,
Attending day and night;
A worldly crowd to din thy ears,
And crowds of unbelieving fears,
To hide him from thy sight.

Yet all the vain and noisy crowd
Is but a thin and lowering cloud,
A mist before thy eyes;
If thou press on, the crowds will fly,
Or if thou faint, to Jesus cry,
And he will send supplies.

This only way can pilgrims go,
And all complain, as thou wilt do,
Of crowds that daily come;
Yet though beset by crafty foes,
And passing through a thousand woes,
They get securely home.

But such as seem to run the race,
And meet no crowd to check their pace,
Are only rambling still;
Not fairly entered on the list,
The gate and narrow way they missed,
Which lead to Zion's hill.

O Lord, a cheering look bestow,
Or lend a hand to help me through,
And draw me up to thee;
And when, through fear, I only creep,
Or dare not move a single step,
Yet thou canst come to me.