Upon the holy mount they stood
that wondrous, awful night;
they saw, and knew that it was good
to see that vision bright.
No Man of Sorrows stands there now;
but, keen as lightning flame,
the streams of heavenly radiance flow
from that transfigured frame.
Beneath that mount another scene
they saw, when morning smiled;
a father, torn with anguish keen,
sought mercy for his child.
No more the blaze of glistering light
enwraps the form divine,
but tender love and healing might
around him softly shine.
He came from hours of rapture high
to care for human woe;
so angels from God’s presence fly
to succor men below.
O Jesus, be our life like thine;
blest labor, doubly blest
by communings with things divine
upon the mountain crest.
Lord, we would pass from hours of prayer,
that lift our souls above,
to go where want and sorrow are
with lowly deeds of love.
Let no self-will within us lurk,
no faithless sloth be there;
but prayer give life to all our work,
and work crown all our prayer.