THE TRANSFIGURATION by AMOS RUSSEL WELLS

With stupid searchings of the mind
My Saviour I had sought to find,
With telescopes of leaves of books
And spectacles that made me blind.

I saw, and vaguely seemed to know,
A man that wandered to and fro
And did fair deeds and said wise words
In Syria, centuries ago.

But all my life was loneliness,
And sins I did not dare confess
Darkened my spirit, dully cheered
By hopes I did not dare caress.

So, as I stumbled on my way,
I came, one heaven-appointed day,
To where the sombre Mount of Pain
Lifted its barrier of gray.

Harsh the ascent, and woeful steep,
And many a gulf yawned black and deep,
And many a serpent hissed dismay,
Till, deadly worn, I fell asleep.

I slept far through the horrid night,
When, soft upon a growing light
My slow eyes opening, startled, saw
The Vision that rewards all sight.

It was the Man of Palestine;
But as the sun His face did shine,
And all His raiment was as snow
Such as no fuller could refine.

And lo! He sat beside me then,
His hand on mine, the way of men,
And showed me all the path of life,
And that New Life beyond my ken;

Till all the air was strangely warmed,
And all the mountainside transformed,
And all the fortress of my soul
His conquering gentleness had stormed.

Then as the sunrise glimmering red
That brighter glory overspread,
From out the shadow came a voice,
And "This is my dear Son," it said.

Ah, I would willingly remain
Upon the awful Mount of Pain,
To see the Man of Syria
And hear His gracious voice again.

But now I care not to explore
An ancient time, a foreign shore,
For Christ, my Lord, my Life, my Friend,
Is by my side, for evermore!

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