When Moses left the sacred mount,
Enraptured with the voice of God,
His peace was like a living fount
That bursts from the incrusting sod,

The dazzling radiance round his brow
Bore witness to the Spirit's fire,
Nor did his ecstasy allow
Of worldly thought or weak desire.

He saw the tents of Israel
Thick on the plain at Sinai's base,
Like white-winged, nestling doves, that dwell
In shelter of some holy place,

And as the winding path he trod,
From barren crag to verdant slope,
He felt himself the priest of God,
The inspired minister of hope.

Here Heaven tunes, it is her way,
The heart to holiest harmonies
And then lets earth's rude fingers play
Discordant strains upon the keys,—

A glittering idol god, upreared
Against Jehovah's sovereign law,
A god by sensual Pharoahs feared,
With angry eyes the prophet saw;

He dashed the hallowed stones away
God's hand had graven on Sinai's height,
And while their fragments round him lay
He passed into the gloom of night.

O Spirit, calm, of truth and power,
Give us thy courage on our way,
In every weak, despondent hour
Visit our trembling faith and say:

“Not thus forever shall the soul
From radiant peaks of faith be hurled,
Truth's steady tide shall sometime roll
Into the worship of the world,

“And men shall scorn idolatries,
And reverent wait at Sinai's base
Till he appears whose favoured eyes
Have seen Jehovah face to face.”