THE TRANSFIGURATION by Dwight Williams

Pacific Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Oakland, California · Jan 15, 1880

THE TRANSFIGURATION.

By Dwight Williams

Upward they trod The lonely mount, to talk with God. One led : he wore a perfect form, With tender beaming smile and warm; And there were three that followed Him Up through the shadows wild and dim. They came to pray; and there apart, And far from worldly pomp and art, They bowed the knee— The Saviour, and His faithful three.

In solitude, The soul best feels the reverent mood; Thus, it is blessed to recede, And find God's hiding in our need, To mount above the world's concern, And feel the inner glory burn Of love's celestial fire. How sweet The silence of this lone retreat: Fit place for prayer, Which hallowed all the mountain air.

O voice of love, Did e'er such tones pathetic move The spirit listening to all tones That rise from his dear pleading ones? Sweet voice of Jesus, never prayer Arose more tender on the air; It melted, charmed the listening three, Till on the wings of ecstasy They rose away, And stood before the gates of day.

The mountain fades, The day-light dwindles into shades; The gates of light swing open wide, And lo, a more than sun-bright tide Bursts from the azure on their sight; And Jesus stands enthroned in light; His native beauty this, when he Stood in his kingly dignity, In his own clime, Sang, long before the birth of time.

Were they not four? Whence those bright forms unseen before? Ah! there he stands, last seen of old On Nebo's mountain lone and cold, Whither he went, his eye not dim, To view, with heavenly seraphim, The goodly land of Canaan far; Not his to cross the Jordan bar; A crown of light He wears than Egypt's crown more bright.

And he, the same Who took the chariot of flame, And sped away in raptured flight, Till angels saw him strange alight Upon the royal steps of gold, Of his dear throne, who heard of old His prayer, when Baal's hosts were bowed On Carmel's height, mid clamor loud. Elijah, hail! Thy prayer was mighty to prevail.

Why come they now, And wail upon the mountain's brow? Dear Son of God, they come to thee, To talk of all thine agony; The shadow of Thy cross is seen Along the fields of fadeless green, And angel eyes are tearful there, Before they hear thy last sweet prayer— "Father, forgive; And let my persecutors live."

Again the three Look forth, and only Jesus see. But even till their latest hour The vision lingers with its power. Those gates ajar have left a gleam That brighter makes our earthly dream; The silver cloud on Tabor's hight Still drops its music with its light; Nor shall it cease Till earth with Heaven is all at peace.

—Dwight Williams, in the Watchword.