When at This Distance, Lord, We Trace

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.

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.

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.

On Ta­bor thus His serv­ants viewed

His lus­ter when trans­formed He stood;

And bid­ding earth­ly scenes fare­well

Cried

Lord

’tis plea­sant here to dwell.

Yet still our ele­vat­ed eyes

To nob­ler vi­sions long to rise;

That grand as­sem­bly would we join

Where all Thy saints around Thee shine.

That mount

how bright! Those forms

how fair!

’Tis good to dwell for ev­er there

Come death

near en­voy of my God

And bear me to that blest ab­ode.