The Pilgrim's Progress by John Bunyan Every Child Can Read
wishes, therefore thus he said: "These crutches I bequeath to my son
that shall tread in my steps, with a hundred warm wishes that he may
prove better than I have done." Then he thanked Mr. Great-heart for his
conduct and kindness, and so addressed himself to his journey. When he
came to the brink of the river, he said, "Now I shall have no more need
of these crutches, since yonder are chariots and horses for me to ride
on." The last words he was heard to say were, "Welcome life!" So he
went his way.
After this, Mr. Feeble-mind had tidings brought him, that the messenger
sounded his horn at his chamber-door. Then he came in, and told him,
saying, "I am come to tell thee that thy Master has need of thee, and
that in a very little time thou must behold His face in brightness. And
take this as a token of the truth of my message: 'Those that look out at
the windows shall be darkened.'" Then Mr. Feeble-mind called for his
friends, and told them what errand had been brought unto him, and what
token he had received of the truth of the message. Then he said, "Since
I have nothing to bequeath to any, to what purpose should I make a will?
As for my feeble mind, that I will leave behind me, for that I shall
have no need of in the place whither I go, nor is it worth bestowing
upon the poorest pilgrim: wherefore, when I am gone, I desire that you,
Mr. Valiant, would bury it in a dunghill." This done, and the day being
come on which he was to depart, he entered the river as the rest. His
last words were, "Hold out, faith and patience!" So he went over to the
other side.
When days had many of them passed away, Mr. Despondency was sent for;
for a messenger was come, and brought this message to him: "Trembling
man, these are to summon thee to be ready with thy King by the next
Lord's day, to shout for joy for thy deliverance from all thy
doubtings. And," said the messenger, "that my message is true, take
this for a proof." So he gave him the grasshopper to be a burden unto
him.
Now, Mr. Despondency's daughter, whose name was Much-afraid, said when
she heard what was done, that she would go with her father. Then Mr.
Despondency said to his friends, "Myself and my daughter, you know what
we have been, and how troublesomely we have behaved ourselves in every
company. My will and my daughter's is, that our discouraged feelings and
slavish fears be by no man received, from the day of our departure for
ever; for I know that after my death they will offer themselves to
others. For, to be plain with you, they are ghosts the which we
entertained when we first began to be pilgrims, and could never shake
them off after; and they will walk about and seek entertainment of the
pilgrims; but, for our sakes, shut ye the doors upon them." When the
time was come for them to depart, they went to the brink of the river.
The last words of Mr. Despondency were, "Farewell, night! welcome, day!"
His daughter went through the river singing, but none could understand
what she said.
Then it came to pass a while after, that there was a messenger in the
town that inquired for Mr. Honest. So he came to his house where he was,
and delivered to his hand these lines: "Thou art commanded to be ready
against this day seven-night, to present thyself before thy Lord at His
Father's house. And for a token that my message is true, 'All thy
daughters of music shall be brought low.'" Then Mr. Honest called for
his friends, and said unto them, "I die, but shall make no will. As for
my honesty, it shall go with me: let them that come after me be told
this." When the day that he was to be gone was come, he prepared himself
to go over the river. Now, the river at that time overflowed its banks
in some places; but Mr. Honest in his lifetime had spoken to one
Good-conscience to meet him there; the which also he did, and lent him
his hand, and so helped him over. The last words of Mr. Honest were,
"Grace reigns!" So he left the world.
[Sidenote: THE FINAL SUMMONS]
After this, it was noised abroad that Mr. Valiant-for-truth was taken
with a summons by the same messenger as the other, and had this for a
token that the summons was true, that his pitcher was broken at the
fountain. When he understood it, he called for his friends, and told
them of it. Then said he, "I am going to my Father's; and though with
great difficulty I am got hither, yet now I do not repent me of all the
trouble I have been at to arrive where I am. My sword I give to him that
shall succeed me in my pilgrimage, and my courage and skill to him that
can get it. My marks and scars I carry with me, to be a witness for me
that I have fought His battles who now will be my rewarder." When the
day that he must go hence was come, many accompanied him to the
river-side, into which as he went he said, "Death, where is thy sting?"
And, as he went down deeper, he said, "Grave, where is thy victory?" So
he passed over, and all the trumpets sounded for him on the other side.
Then there came forth a summons for Mr. Stand-fast (this Mr. Stand-fast
was he whom the pilgrims found upon his knees in the Enchanted Ground),
for the messenger brought it him open in his hands; the contents thereof
were, that he must prepare for a change of life, for his Master was not
willing that he should be so far from Him any longer. At this Mr.
Stand-fast was put into a muse.
"Nay," said the messenger, "you need not doubt the truth of my message,
for here is a token of the truth thereof: 'Thy wheel is broken at the
cistern.'"
Then he called to him Mr. Great-heart, who was their guide, and said
unto him, "Sir, although it was not my hap to be much in your good
company in the days of my pilgrimage, yet, since the time I knew you,
you have been profitable to me. When I came from home, I left behind me
a wife and five small children: let me entreat you at your return (for I
know that you will go and return to your master's house, in hopes that
you may yet be a conductor to more of the holy pilgrims), that you send
to my family, and let them be acquainted with all that hath or shall
happen unto me. Tell them moreover of my happy arrival to this place,
and of the present and late blessed condition that I am in. Tell them
also of Christian and Christiana his wife, and how she and her children
came after her husband. Tell them also what a happy end she made, and
whither she is gone. I have little or nothing to send to my family,
unless it be my prayers and tears for them; of which it will suffice
that you acquaint them, if peradventure they may prevail."
[Sidenote: END OF THE PILGRIMAGE]
When Mr. Stand-fast had thus set things in order, and the time being
come for him to haste him away, he also went down to the river. Now,
there was a great calm at that time in the river; wherefore Mr.
Stand-fast, when he was about half-way in, stood a while, and talked to
his companions that had waited upon him thither. And he said, "This
river has been a terror to many; yea, the thoughts of it have also
frighted me; but now methinks I stand easy; my foot is fixed upon that
on which the feet of the priests that bare the ark of the covenant stood
while Israel went over Jordan. The waters, indeed, are to the palate
bitter, and to the stomach cold; yet the thought of what I am going to,
and of the conduct that waits for me on the other side, doth lie as a
glowing coal at my heart. I see myself now at the end of my journey; my
toilsome days are ended. I am going to see that head which was crowned
with thorns, and that face which was spit upon for me. I have formerly
lived by hearsay and faith; but now I go where I shall live by sight,
and shall be with Him in whose company I delight myself. I have loved to
hear my Lord spoken of; and wherever I have seen the print of His shoe
in the earth, there I have coveted to set my foot too. His name has been
to me as a perfume box; yea, sweeter than all sweet smells. His voice to
me has been most sweet, and His countenance I have more desired than
they that have most desired the light of the sun. His Word I did use to
gather for my food, and for medicine against my faintings. He has held
me, and hath kept me from my sins; yea, my steps hath He strengthened in
His way."
Now, while he was thus speaking, his countenance changed, his strong man
bowed under him; and, after he had said, "Take me, for I come unto
Thee!" he ceased to be seen of them.
But glorious it was to see how the open region was filled with horses
and chariots, with trumpeters and pipers, with singers and players on
stringed instruments to welcome the pilgrims as they went up, and
followed one another in at the beautiful gate of the City.
As for Christian's children, the four boys that Christiana brought with
her, with their wives and children, I did not stay where I was till they
were gone over. Also, since I came away, I heard one say that they were
yet alive, and so would be for the help of the Church in that place
where they were for a time.
Shall it be my lot to go that way again, I may give those that desire it
an account of what I here am silent about: meantime I bid my reader
ADIEU.
THE LITTLE PILGRIM.
THE STORY OF A LITTLE GIRL WHO TRIED TO GO ON PILGRIMAGE.
In a large old house, with two kind aunts,
The little Marian dwelt;
And a happy child she was, I ween,
For though at times she felt
That playmates would be better far
Than either birds or flowers,
Yet her kind old aunts, and story books,
Soothed many lonely hours.
Her favorite haunt, in the summer-time,
Was a large old apple-tree;
And oft amid the boughs she sat,
With her pet book on her knee.
The "Pilgrim's Progress" was its name,
And Marian loved it much;
It is, indeed, a glorious book,
There are not many such!
She read it in her little bed,
Beside the winter fire,
And in summer-time, in the apple-tree,
As though she would never tire.
But, unexplained, 'tis just the book
To puzzle the young brain;
And the poor child had no kind friend,
Its meaning to explain.
For though her aunts were very kind,
They were not overwise,
And only said, "Don't read so, child,
I'm sure you'll spoil your eyes."
But Marian still went reading on,
And visions strange and wild
Began to fill the little head
Of the lonely, dreaming child;
For she thought that Christian and his wife,
And all their children too,
Had left behind their pleasant home,
And done what she must do.
"I'll take my Bible," said the child,
"And seek the road to heaven;
I'll try to find the Wicket Gate,
And hope to be forgiven.
I wish my aunts would go with me,
But 'tis in vain to ask;
They are so deaf and rather lame,
They'd think it quite a task.
"No! I must go alone, I see,
So I'll not let them know;
Or, like poor Christian's friends, they'll say,
'My dear, you must not go.'
"But I must wait till some grand scheme
Can all their thoughts engage;
And then I'll leave my pleasant home,
And go on pilgrimage."
She had not waited long, before,
One fine autumnal day,
She saw the large old coach arrive,
To take her aunts away.
"We're going out to spend the day,"
The two old ladies said;
"We mean to visit Mrs. Blair--
Poor soul!--she's ill in bed.
"But, Marian, you must stay at home,
For the lady's ill, you see;
You can have your dinner, if you like,
In the large old apple-tree,
And play in the garden all the day,
Quite happy and content."
A few more parting words were said,
And off the ladies went.
The servants, too, were all engaged;
"The day is come at last,"
Said Marian, "but oh, I wish,
My pilgrimage was past."