The Pilgrim's Progress by John Bunyan Every Child Can Read

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.

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."

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 feltThat playmates would be better farThan 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 bookTo 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 wildBegan to fill the little headOf 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 schemeCan 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."She knelt beside the apple-tree,And for God's assistance prayed;Then, with her basket in her hand,Forth tripped the little maid.Behind the house where Marian dwelt,Far off in the distance, layA high steep hill, which the sun at mornTinged with its earliest ray."Difficulty" was its rightful name,The child had often thought;Towards this hill she turned her steps,With hopeful visions fraught.The flowers seemed to welcome her,'Twas a lovely autumn morn,The little lark sang merrily,Above the waving corn."Ah, little lark, you sing," said she,"On your early pilgrimage;I, too, will sing, for pleasant thoughtsShould now my mind engage."In clear, sweet strains she sang a hymn,And tripped lightly on her way;Until a pool of soft, thick mudAcross her pathway lay."This is the Slough of Despond," she cried,But she bravely ventured through;And safely reached the other side,But she lost one little shoe.On an old gray stone she sat her down,To eat some fruit and bread;Then took her little Bible out,And a cheering psalm she read.Then with fresh hope she journeyed on,For many miles away;And she reached the bottom of the hill,Before the close of day.She clambered up the steep ascent,Though faint and weary, too;But firmly did our Marian keepHer purpose still in view."I'm glad, at least, the arbor's past,"Said the little tired soul;"I'm sure I should have sat me downAnd lost my little roll!"On the high hill-top she stands at last,And our weary Pilgrim seesA porter's lodge, of ample size,Half hid by sheltering trees.She clapped her hands with joy, and cried,"Oh, there's the Wicket Gate,And I must seek admittance there,Before it is too late."Gently she knocks – 'tis answered soon,And at the open doorStands a tall, stout man – poor Marian feltAs she ne'er had felt before.With tearful eyes, and trembling hand,Flushed cheek, and anxious brow,She said, "I hope you're Watchful, Sir,I want Discretion now.""Oh yes, I'm watchful," said the man,"As a porter ought to be;I s'pose you've lost your way, young Miss,You've lost your shoe, I see."Missus," he cried to his wife within,"Here's a child here, at the door,You'll never see such a one again,If you live to be fourscore.She wants discretion, so she says,Indeed I think 'tis true;But I know some who want it more,Who will not own they do.""Go to the Hall," his wife replies,"And take the child with you,The ladies there are all so wise,They'll soon know what to do."The man complied, and led the childThrough many a flowery glade;"Is that the Palace Beautiful?"The little Pilgrim said."There, to the left, among the trees?Why, Miss, 'tis mighty grand;Call it a palace, if you please,'Tis the finest in the land.Now we be come to the fine old porch,And this is the Marble Hall;Here, little lady, you must stay,While I the servants call."Tired and sad he left the child,But he quickly re-appeared,And with him the lady of the house —Poor Marian's heart was cheered."Sweet little girl," the lady said,In accents soft and kind,"I'm sure you sadly want some rest,And rest you soon shall find."To a room where three young ladies sat,The child was quickly led;"Piety, Prudence, and Charity,"To herself she softly said."What is your name, my little dear?"Said the eldest of the three,Whom Marian, in her secret thought,Had christened Piety."We'll send a servant to your friends,How uneasy they must be!"Admiringly she watched the child,Who, indeed, was fair to see;Around her bright and lovely faceFell waves of auburn hair,As modestly she told her name,With whom she lived and where."How did you lose your way, my love?"She gently raised her head;"I do not think I've lost my way,"The little Pilgrim said."This is the Palace Beautiful,May I stay here to-night?"They smiled and said, "We're glad our houseFinds favor in your sight: —"Yes, gladly will we keep you here,For many nights to come.""Thank you," said Marian, "but I soonMust seek my heavenly home.The Valley of the Shadow of DeathIs near this house, I know" —She stopped, for she saw, with great surprise,Their tears began to flow.She little thought the mourning dress,Which all the ladies wore,Was for one whom they had dearly loved,And should see on earth no more.Their brother had been called away,Their brightest and their best;No wonder, then, that Marian's wordsRoused grief in every breast.Sobs only for awhile were heard;At length the ladies said,"My, love, you have reminded usOf our loved and early dead;But this you could not know, my dear,And it indeed is true;We are all near to Death's dark door,Even little girls like you.""Yes," said the timid, trembling child,"I know it must be so;But, ma'am, I hope that PietyMay be with me when I go.And will you show me your armory,When you have time to spare?I hope you have some small enoughFor a little girl to wear."No more she said, for Piety,As Marian called her, castHer arms around the Pilgrim's neck,The secret's out at last."You puzzled all," said Piety;"But now, I see, you've readA glorious book, which, unexplained,Has turned your little head."Oh, dearly, when I was a child,I loved that Pilgrim Tale;But then mamma explained it well —And if we can prevailOn your kind aunts to let you staySome time with us, my dear,You shall read that book with my mamma,And she will make it clear."Now we'll return to Marian's home,And see what's passing there.The servants all had company,And a merry group they were.They had not missed our Pilgrim long,For they knew she oft would playIn that old garden, with a book,The whole of the livelong day."Betty," at last, said the housekeeper,"Where can Miss Marian be?Her dinner was in the basket packed,But sure, she'll come in to tea!"They sought her here, they sought her there,But they could not find the child;And her poor old aunts, when they came home,With grief were almost wild.The coachman and the footman too,In different ways were sent;But none thought of the narrow wayIn which the Pilgrim went."Perhaps she followed us to town,"Poor Aunt Rebecca said,"I wish we had not left our home;I fear the child is dead."And to the town the coachman went,For they knew not what to do;And night drew on, when a country boyBrought Marian's little shoe.With the shoe in her hand, the housekeeperInto the parlor ran,"Oh, Mistress, here is all that's leftOf poor Miss Marian."It was found sticking in the mud,Just above Harlem Chase;I fear the poor child's perished there,For 'tis a frightful place."Then louder grew the ladies' grief;But soon their hearts were cheered,When a footman grand, with a note in his hand,From the distant Hall appeared.Aunt Ruth now read the note, and cried,"Oh, sister, all is well!The child is safe at Brookland Hall,With Lady Arundel,Who wants to keep her for a month;Why, yes; I think she may —Such friends as Lady ArundelAre not met with every day."Our compliments, and thanks to her,When you return, young man;We'll call to-morrow at the Hall,And see Miss Marian."Then came a burst of grateful joy,That could not be suppressed,And, with thankful hearts and many tears,The ladies went to rest.We'll take a peep at our Marian now,There in her bed lies she;How blissful were her dreams that night,In the arms of Piety.Oh, that happy month at Brookland Hall,How soon it passed away!Cheerful and good were Marian's friends,And who so kind as they?And, more than all, while there she stayedThey did their best to bringThe little lamb to that blest foldWhere reigns the Shepherd King.For many a lesson ne'er forgot,The little Marian learned;And a thoughtful and a happier childShe to her home returned.Years rolled away, the scene has changed,A wife and mother now,Marian has found the Wicket Gate,She and her children too.And oh! how sweet it is to seeThis little Pilgrim band,As on towards their heavenly home,They travel hand in hand.When cloudy days fall to their lot,They see a light afar,The light that shone on Bethlehem's plain,The Pilgrim's guiding star.And now, dear children, whosoe'er,Or whereso'er you be,Who ponder o'er this strange, true taleOf Marian's history, —If to the Flowers of your young hearts,Instructions dews are given,Oh! be earnest as our Marian was,To find the road to Heaven.

1

Bedford jail, in which Bunyan was twelve years a prisoner.

2

Tophet here means hell.

3

Idle one.

4

An old word meaning "money" or "riches."

5

This word means "pleasant," or "delightful."

6

"Perspective glass" is an old name for a telescope or spy-glass.

7

An atheist is one who does not believe that there is a God.

8

That is, "of the body and blood of Christ."

9

An instrument of music, used in the time of John Bunyan, somewhat like a very small piano.

10

An old English coin, bearing the figure of an angel.

11

The word "let" here means "hindrance."