Where shining hosts were pouring
Their praises forth to Him,
She saw her child adoring,
Amid the Seraphim.
[THE BELIEVER’S MOUNTAINS.]
Not to the mount, where fire and smoke
Jehovah’s face concealed,
When loud to wandering man he spoke,
To make his law revealed—
Not to the awful splendor there
Can turn my fearful eye:
To hear its thunderings, and to dare
Its lightnings, were to die.
Not on the mount where Moses stood,
The promised land to see
Across the waves of Jordan’s flood,
Is yet the place for me.
My spirit could not bear to take
That fair and glorious view,
Nor dare her wondrous launch to make,
To try the waters through.
Not to the mount where Christ appeared
At once so heavenly bright;
While they, who heard the Father, feared,
And fell before the light—
Not there, my Saviour ever nigh,
Do I his footsteps trace:
His closer followers far, than I,
Attain that higher place.
But, to the mount without a name,
Where Jesus sat and taught,
I daily would assert my claim,
To share the bread he brought.
His words before that multitude
Dropt to his chosen few,
Are manna for my morning food,
My soul’s sweet evening dew.
If to Temptation’s mount I go,
That mount exceeding high,
My Lord, again rebuke our foe,
And bid the tempter fly.
No kingdom may I seek, but thine;
And let my glory be
A light, reflected pure from thine—
My portion, life with thee!
Oft to the mount of midnight shade,
Of solitude and prayer,
Ascend, my soul, be not afraid
Thy Guide to follow there.
The height and stillness of the scene,
When thou that path hast trod,
Forbids this world to rush between
A spirit and her God.