Christ, Your transfigured glory
The faithful three nonplussed,
As saints of ancient story
Your exodus discussed:
Elijah, who was carried
Alive unto Your throne;
And Moses, whom You buried,
His resting place unknown.
Small wonder that we knew them,
Whose faces none had seen,
While yet more strangely through them
News of Your death we glean.
All prophecy, all learning,
All breadth of sacred page,
Must therefore teem concerning
That crux of every age.
As Peter spoke up, knowing
Not wherefore or whereof,
A dreadful cloud came flowing;
The Father spoke with love.
What fear, what glory blinding!
What earth-convulsing tone!—
And after all this, finding
You, Christ, and You alone!
Indeed, Lord, we would hear You;
Your presence we would gain,
In fellowship draw near You,
Come either joy or pain;
Come rare and mighty vision,
Come humble toil and death,
We seek from You provision
For ev'ry thought and breath.
You who held conversation
With holy men of yore,
Now give us that salvation
Encoded in their lore:
Unchained from dusty letters,
Unleashed in bloody act,
Your cross has cut our fetters
And Satan's kingdom sacked.
An alleluia bring we;
One alleluia more
To You, O Father, sing we,
O Son, whom we adore;
The Holy Spirit praising,
One God from age to age,
Let endless allleluias
All faithful tongues engage.
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