She could not see the beaming Of his celestial crown; For fast her tears were streaming; Her soul to dust bowed down. A voice from heaven then falling In soothing tones to her, As of a Father, calling, Revealed the Comforter. And, lifting up her lowly And sorrow-laden eye, She saw the King all holy Upon the throne Most High. Where shining hosts were pouring Their praises forth to Him, She saw her child adoring, Amid the Seraphim. 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 dare her wondrous launch to make, To try the waters through. Not to the mount where Christ appeared At once so heavenly bright; While they, who heard the Father, feared, And fell before the light-- Not there, my Saviour ever nigh, Do I his footsteps trace: His closer followers far, than I, Attain that higher place. But, to 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 Dropt 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. No kingdom may I seek, but thine; And let my glory be A light, reflected pure from thine-- My portion, life with thee! Oft to the mount of 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 thou that path hast trod, Forbids this world to rush between A spirit and her God. The mount whereon my Saviour stood, And 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 be betrayed; But, as he went, to pray and weep O'er sufferings sin hath made. And to the solemn, shuddering mount, Where Christ received the cup Of death, to offer us a fount Of life, must I go up. And I must look upon his wo, On that empurpled tree, To learn how vast a debt I owe, By what he paid for me.