The Believer's Mountains

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 long her wondrous launch to make,

To try the waters through.

Not to the mount where Christ appeared

At once so heavenly bright;

When they who heard the Father, feared,

And fell before the light -

Not there, my Master ever nigh,

Do I his footsteps trace!

His closer follower far, than I,

Attains that higher place.

But on 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,

Dropped 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.

For kingdom, let me seek but thine;

And may my glory be

A pure reflected light from thine;

My treasure, life in thee.

The mount of silent 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 that lone path is trod,

Forbid this world to rush between

A spirit and her God.

The mount whereon my Saviour stood,

As o'er the city wept;

Where fell his wo-wrung drops of blood,

While his disciples slept -

There may I go; yet not to sleep,

Till Jesus is betrayed;

But as he went, to pray and weep

O'er captives sin hath made!

And, to the solemn, shuddering mount,

Where Christ received the cup

Of death, to offer us the fount

Of life, must I go up.

I there must look upon his wo

On that empurpled tree,

To learn how vast the debt I owe,

By what he paid for me!

Thence, to the mount in Galilee,

The way I may pursue

With joy my risen Lord to see,

Ere he ascends from view,

For, lo! the heavens their doors unfold

To take their coming king!

His angels harp on strings of good,

And "Hallelujah!" sing.

Now that he's gone where mortal sight

Is of his face bereft,

My soul would find Mount Zion's height,

Led by the light he left,

The mountain of his holiness,

This home I fain would know,

While earth's "dark mountains" growing less,

Melt and are lost below!

Miss H.F. Gould (Hannah Flagg Gould)

New Series 2:16, p. 64

1841.06.19