Tell Us O Women Travelers

Tell us, O Women Travellers,
Unto what Place ye go?
And why ye do not seem Content
To stay on Earth below?

All Creatures here we empty find,
They can’t supply our Wants,
We go to Christ above, our Life,
To praise him with the Saints.

Have you not many Friends on Earth,
Who with you sympathize?
Cannot your Earthly Comforts here
Your Hearts to stay entice?

We’re Pilgrims here, Earth’s not our Home,
Which makes us long to be,
Where Christ our Friend dwells with his Saints,
And they him glorify.

Why don’t you seek your Treasure here,
With others in the Land;
Who seem well pleas’d with sensual Things,
And some thing in their Hand?

Our Treasure Christ lay’d up above,
He dearly bought out Bliss,
His Blood’s the Price; nay, Christ himself,
Our blessed Treasure is.

Since Christ your Treasure is in Heaven,
Your Heart must mount above:
Things Earthly will not suit your Minds,
You must be where you love.

A Sight of Jesu’s Love, and Blood,
Down streaming from the Cross,
Makes all Things to us here below,
Appear as Dung and Dross.

Let Pilgrims here join Heaven’s Host,
And Hallelujahs sing,
To him that sits upon the Throne,
And to the Lamb our King.

Hosanna’s of the highest strain,
To th’ King of Kings be giv’n,
Our Saviour God, who came to Men,
With news of Peace from Heav’n.