Stay, Mas­ter, stay, upon this heavenly hill;
A little longer, let us linger still;
With these two mighty ones of old beside,
Near to the Awful Presence still abide.
Before the gates of light we trembling stand,
And touch the veil that hides the spirit land.

Stay, Mas­ter, stay! we breathe a purer air;
We soar aloft in commune, praise and prayer;
Thoughts, feelings, flashes, glimpses come and go;
We cannot speak them—nay, we do not know:
Wrapped in this cloud of light we seem to be
The thing we fain would grow eternally.

No! saith the Lord, the hour is past; we go:
Our home, our life, our duties lie below.
While here we kneel upon the mount of prayer,
The plough lies waiting in the furrow there:
Here we have sought to learn His heavenly will;
There we must do it—serve Him, seek Him still.

If man aspires to reach the mount of God,
O’er the dull plains of earth must lie the road;
He who best does his lowly duty here,
Shall soar the farthest in that loftier sphere:
In God’s high work we find His promised rest;
And he is nearest Him who serves Him best.