Forty Days Thy Seer of Old

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.

Forty 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.