MOSES | AdventAI

Seventh-day Adventist Missionary Society · Oakland, California · Dec 22, 1881

MOSES.

To his rest on the lonely hills, To his rest, where no man knows, By the secret birth of the rills, And the secret death of the snows;

To the place of the silent rocks, Where no voice from the earth can come, But the thunder leaps, and shocks The heart of the nations dumb;

To the long and desolate stand On the brink of the ardent slope, To the thought of the beautiful land, And the woe of unanswered hope;

To the fallen fate from God On the life yet young within; To the sense of the smothering sod, And the crush of remembered sin;

To the moments that gather the years, Like clouds on the heaven afar; To the tumult of terrible fears; To the flush and the triumph of war;

To the plagues of the darkness and dead, And the cry of a conquered king; To the joy of the onward tread, And the beat of a cageless wing;

To the march of the pillar of cloud, And the rest of the pillar of fire; To the song of the jubilant crowd, And the passionate praise of the lyre;

To the mountain, ascended alone, And the law, in its thunder given, And the glimpse of the feet of the throne, And the light of the shadows of heaven.

To a grave, where no marble above Can be voiceful of peril and praise, Where no children can weep out their love, No widow recall the lost days.

To these—but his step is not weak, And he moves as one moves to a throne— Alone with the past on that peak, With his grief and his glory alone. —Unknown.