Classic Poem

No staff, nor script, nor sandal shoon,
Oh, pilgrim, pure and frail!
No light to guide thee through the gloom
Of Death's dark, narrow vale.
With naked feet doth fearless tread
That cold and thorny path?
With folded hands doth meet the dread
And subtle tempter's wrath?

Pass on in peace, for staff and script
A Saviour's hand supplies,
And the pure light of Heaven fills
Thy soft uplifted eyes.
Pass on, the path of innocence
No terror shall assail;
And God shall be thy sure defence
In Death's dark, narrow vale.