Christian, lookup? thy feet may slide;
This is a slippery way!
Yet One is walking by thy side
Whose arm should be thy stay,
Thou canst not see that blessed form,
Nor view that loving smile
With eager eyes thus earthward bent—
Christian, look up a while!

Christian, look up!—what seest thou here
To court thy anxious eyes?
Earth is beneath thee, lone and drear,
Above, thy native skies!
Beneath, the wreck of faded bloom,
The shadow, and the clod,
The broken reed, the open tomb,—
Above thee, is THY GOD!

Look up! thy head too long has been
Bowed darkly toward the earth,
Thou son of a most Royal Sire,
Creature of kingly birth!
What! dragging like a very slave
Earth's heavy galling chain,—
And struggling onward to the grave
In weariness and pain?

What wouldst thou with this world?—thy home,
Thy country is not here,
'Mid faded flowers, and perished bloom,
And shadows dense and drear!—
Thy home is where the tree of Life
Waves high its fruitage blest,
'Mid bowers with fadeless beauties rife,—
Look up, and claim thy rest!