1  Via Bethlehem we journey,

    We whose hearts on God are set;

    Babe-like souls of Jesus learning,

    While our cheeks with tears are wet;

    For the manger and the stable

    Are not pleasant to our eyes,

    But our feet must follow Jesus,

    If our hands would grasp the prize.

 2  Via Nazareth! The pathway

    Narrows still as on we go,

    Years of toil none understanding,

    Yet God teaches us to know

    That the servant is not greater

    Than the Lord, who through long years

    Hid Himself from this world's glory,

    Follow Him! Count not the tears.

 3  Via Galilee, we see Him!

    Stones are hurled, and cursed hissed

    By the men who gather round Him,

    Has He not the pathway missed?

    No! Unharmed the Savior passes,

    And this rough bit of the way

    We must travel, since like Jesus,

    Nothing can our purpose stay.

 4  Via too, the awful anguish

    Of the hours beneath the trees,

    Where the host of Satan linger,

    Awful hours of anguish these!

    Yet we fail not, for God's angels

    Minister to us, and say,

    "Look, beloved, at the glory,

    Conflict is but for a day!"

 5  Then the Cross! For via Calvary

    Every royal soul must go;

    Here we draw the veil, for Jesus

    Only can the pathway show;

    "If we suffer with Him," listen,

    Just a little, little while,

    And the memory will have faded

    In the glory of His smile!

 6  Then the grave, with dear ones weeping,

    Knowing that all life has fled;

    (Fellow-pilgrims, art thou numbered

    With the men the world calls dead?)

    Thence we rise, and live with Jesus,

    Throned above the world's mad strife,

    Gladly forfeiting forever,

    All that worldlings count as life.

 7  On we press! And yonder gleaming,

    Nearer every day, we see

    The great walls of that fair city,

    God has built for such as we;

    And we catch the tender music

    Of the choirs that sing of One

    Who once died to have us with Him

    In His kingdom, on the throne.

 8  Just a few more miles, beloved!

    And our feet shall ache no more;

    No more sin, and no more sorrow,

    Hush thee, Jesus went before;

    And I hear Him sweetly whispering,

    "Faint not, fear not, still press on,

    For it may be ere tomorrow,

    The long journey will be done."