When at
this
distance,
Lord, we
trace
The
various
glories of
Thy face,
What
transport
pours o�er
all our
breast,
And charms
our cares
and woes
to rest,
And charms
our cares
and woes
to rest.
With Thee
in the
obscurest
cell,
On some
bleak
mountain
would I
dwell,
Rather
than
pompous
courts
behold,
And share
their
grandeur
and their
gold,
And share
their
grandeur
and their
gold.
Away,
ye dreams
of mortal
joy�
Raptures
divine my
thoughts
employ;
I see the
King of
glory
shine,
And feel
His love
and call
Him mine,
And feel
His love
and call
Him mine.
On
Tabor thus
His
servants
viewed
His luster
when
transformed
He stood;
And biding
earthly
scenes
farewell,
Cried,
�Lord,
�tis
pleasant
here to
dwell,�
Cried,
�Lord,
�tis
pleasant
here to
dwell.�