Lord Je­sus, on the ho­ly mount
We would abide with Thee,
Still drink­ing from the bless­èd fount
Of grace, so rich and free.

There pro­phets praise Thy glo­ri­ous name,
And deeds which Thou hast done;
And there the Fa­ther’s words pro­claim
His own be­lov­èd Son.

The rays of Thy trans­fig­ured face
Beam with such gold­en light
That we would ne­ver leave the place,
Nor lose the hea­ven­ly sight.

But there is work on earth to do,
The suf­fer­ing soul to heal;
The har­vest great, the la­bor­ers few
Thy king­dom to re­veal.

We may not lin­ger on the mount,
Where bright Thy glo­ries shine;
We may not taste the sac­red fount
Of bless­ed­ness di­vine.

But let some beams of heav’n­ly light
Make bright our earth­ly way;
Then grant the bea­tif­ic sight
Of Heav’n and end­less day.