Not Long On Hermon's Holy Height

1 Not long on Her­mon’s ho­ly height
The heav’n­ly vi­sion fills our sight;
We may not breathe that pur­er air,
Nor build our ta­ber­na­cles there.

2 The vi­sion fades, the splen­dor dies;
The saints have sought again the skies;
The home­ly garb the Mas­ter wore
Is bright with sud­den glow no more.

3 If with the Mas­ter we would go,
Our feet must thread the vale be­low,
Where dark the lone­ly path­ways wind,
The gold­en glory left be­hind.

4 Where hun­gry souls ask One to feed,
Where wan­d’rers cry for One to lead,
Where help­less hearts in chains are bound—
There shall the Mas­ter still be found:

5 There, pa­tient bend­ing o’er His task,
No rai­ment white our eyes shall ask,
Content while through each cloud we trace
The glo­ry of the Mas­ter’s face.


Source: The Cyber Hymnal #16519

• MIDI file from The Cyber Hymnal #16519