And seers would mourn on Sion's hill
  Their Lord's averted face.

Vainly they tried the deeps to sound
  E'en of their own prophetic thought,
When of Christ crucified and crowned
  His Spirit in them taught:

But He their aching gaze repressed,
  Which sought behind the veil to see,
For not without us fully blest
  Or perfect might they be.

The rays of the Almighty's face
  No sinner's eye might then receive;
Only the meekest man found grace
  To see His skirts and live.

But we as in a glass espy
  The glory of His countenance,
Not in a whirlwind hurrying by
  The too presumptuous glance,

But with mild radiance every hour,
  From our dear Saviour's face benign
Bent on us with transforming power,
  Till we, too, faintly shine.

Sprinkled with His atoning blood
  Safely before our God we stand,
As on the rock the Prophet stood,
  Beneath His shadowing hand. -

Blessed eyes, which see the things we see!
  And yet this tree of life hath proved
To many a soul a poison tree,
  Beheld, and not beloved.

So like an angel's is our bliss
  (Oh! thought to comfort and appal)
It needs must bring, if used amiss,
  An angel's hopeless fall.