Forty days Thy seer of old
Communed with Thee, O Most High;
Fain Thy glories to behold
And Thy glory passing by. In the rocky cleft he bowed;
Thou, as mortal gaze might bear,
Part revealed and part in cloud,
Didst Thy secret Name declare. Forth days of Easter-tide
Thou didst commune with Thine own;
Now by glimpses, Lord, descried,
Handled now and proved and known; Known, most Merciful, yet veiled;
Else before the awful sight
Surely heart and flesh had failed,
Smitten with exceeding light. Risen Master, fain would we,
Sharing those unearthly days,
Morn and eve, on shore and sea,
Watch Thy movements, mark Thy ways; Catch by faith each glad surprise
Of Thy footstep drawing nigh,
Hear Thy sudden greeting rise—
“Peace be to you! It is I”; Secrets of Thy kingdom learn,
Read the visions open spread,
Feel Thy Word within us burn,
Know Thee in the broken bread. So Thy glory’s skirts beside
Gently led from grace to grace,
We Thy coming may abide,
And adore Thee face to face. |
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