I saw a wayworn trav'ler
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;
Yet shouted as he journeyed,
"Deliverance will come!"

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 songsters 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!"

I saw him in the evening,
The sun was bending low,
He'd overtopped the mountain,
And reached the vale below;
He saw the golden city,
His everlasting home,
And shouted loud, "Hosanna!
Deliverance will come!"

While gazing on that city,
Just o'er the narrow flood,
A band of holy angels
Came from the throne of God;
Thy bore him on their pinions,
Safe o'er the dashing foam,
And joined him in his triumph,
"Deliverance has come!"

I heard the song of triumph,
They sang upon the shore,
Our Jesus has redeemed us
To suffer nevermore;
Then looking once more backward,
He viewed the race he'd run,
And shouted loud, "Hosanna!
Deliverance has come!"

Then palms of victory, crowns of glory,
Palms of victory, I shall wear.