Text: | Christ's Transfiguration |
Author: | Dr. Doddridge |
1 When at this distance, Lord, we trace
The various glories of thy face,
What transport pours o'er all our breast,
And charms our cares and woes to rest.
2 With thee in the obscurest cell
On some bleak mountain would I dwell,
Rather than pompous courts behold,
And share their grandeur and their gold.
3 Away, ye dreams of mortal joy!
Raptures divine my thoughts employ:
I see the King of glory shine;
And feel his love, and call him mine.
4 On tabor, thus his servants view'd
His lustre, when transform'd he stood;
And, bidding earthly scenes farewel,
Cries, "Lord, 'tis pleasant here to dwell."
5 Yet still our elevated eyes
To nobler visions long to rise;
That grand Assembly would we join,
Where all thy saints around thee shine.
6 That mount how bright! those forms how fair!
'Tis good to dwell for ever there:
Come, death, dear envoy of my God,
And bear me to that blest abode.
Text Information | |
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First Line: | When at this distance, Lord, we trace |
Title: | Christ's Transfiguration |
Author: | Dr. Doddridge |
Meter: | L. M. |
Language: | English |
Publication Date: | 1792 |
Scripture: | |
Topic: | The Life and Ministry of Christ; Presence of Christ the joy of his people; Transfiguration of Christ |