Who would true valour see,
Let him
come hither;
One here will constant be,
Come
wind, come weather;
There’s no discouragement
Shall make him once relent
His first avowed intent
To be a
pilgrim.
Whoso beset him round
With
dismal stories,
Do but themselves confound;
His
strength the more is.
No lion can him fright,
He’ll with a giant fight,
But he will have a right
To be a
pilgrim.
Hobgoblin nor foul fiend
Can
daunt his spirit
He knows he at the end
Shall
life inherit.
Then fancies fly away;
He’ll fear not what men say;
He’ll labour night and day
To be a
pilgrim.
Words: John Bunyan 1628-88
Music: English traditional melody, Monk’s Gate, arr.
Vaughan-Williams.