Pilgrimage Sermon Illustrations

Pilgrimage Sermon Illustrations

We're bound for yonder land
Where Jesus reigns supreme;
We leave the shore at His command,
Forsaking all for Him.

'Twere easy, did we choose,
Again to reach the shore—
But that is what our souls refuse,
We'll never touch it more.

(Heb. 11. 14-16)


Strangers and pilgrims here below,
This earth, we know, is not our place—
And hasten through this vale of woe;
And, restless to behold Thy face,
Swift to our heavenly country move,
Our everlasting home above.

(Phil. 3. 20, 21; Heb. 11. 13; 13. 14; 1 Pet. 2. 11


The following are some of the last words of John G. Bellett:

My pilgrim days are waning;
The voice of Him I love
Has called me to His presence
In my Father's house above.
Long, long, by faith I've known Him,
But now I'm going to see
The One that sits in Heaven—
The Man that died for me.

But ere I left the desert,
I longed that I might know
What joy His blessed presence
Could give me here below,
A few more fleeting moments—
Oh, I would nearer be
My precious, loving Saviour,
The Man that died for me.

He gave me all I asked for,
And more than I can tell;
He filled my heart with rapture,
With joy unspeakable;
The loving hand of Jesus
Seemed gently laid on me—
I had for my Companion
The Man that died for me.

The glories of the Kingdom
Are coming bye-and-bye;
And I shall see my brethren,
Be crowned with them on high.
I know that I shall reign, but,
Before it all for me
There's a time alone with Jesus,
The Man that died for me.

To fall asleep in Jesus,
'Tis what I think of now;
To be forever with the Lord,
Before Himself to bow!
O yes, with Him Who stayed to call
Zacchaeus from the tree;
With Him Who hung upon the cross—
The Man Who died for me.

It is the Man Christ Jesus—
With Him I'm going to dwell;
The very man of Sychar
Who sat upon the well;
Whose matchless love filled that poor heart,
And gave her eyes to see
That He was God's anointed,
The Man that died for me.

To leave the world that cast Him out,
And be with Him up there,
Before the kingdom glories
Or the many crowns appear!
Oh, the Man of Sychar—
It is Himself to see!
Perfection of perfections,
I long to be with Thee.

(John 14. 2, 3; Phil. 1. 23; 3. 20, 21; 1 John 3. 2)


O Thou, by long experience tried,
Near Whom no grief can long abide,
My Lord! how full of sweet content
I pass my years of banishment.

All scenes alike engaging prove
To souls impress'd with sacred love;
Where'er they dwell, they dwell in Thee
In heaven, on earth, or on the sea.
To me remains nor place nor time;
My country is in every clime;
I may be calm and free from care
On any shore since God is there.

While place we seek or place we shun,
The soul finds happiness in none;
But with a God to guide the way,
'Tis equal joy to go or stay.

Could I be cast where Thou art not,
That were indeed a dreadful lot;
But regions none remote I call,
Secure of finding God in all.

My country, Lord, art Thou alone:
No other can I claim or own;
The point where all my wishes meet,
My law, my love, life's only sweet.

I hold by nothing here below;
Appoint my journey and I go.
Though pierced by scorn, opprest by pride,
I feel the good—feel naught beside.

No frowns of men can hurtful prove
To souls on fire with heavenly love:
Though men and devils both condemn,
No gloomy days arise for them.—Madame de la Mothe Guyon

(Col. 1. 27; Heb. 13. 13, 14)

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