The clouded hill attend thou still,
And him that went within.

A. Clough
Not so indeed shall be our creed,-
The Man whom we rely on
Has brought us thro' from old to new,
From Sinai to Zion.
For us He scaled the hill of myrrh,
The summits of His Passion,
And is set down upon the throne
Of infinite Compassion.
He passed within the cloud that veiled
The Mount of our Salvation,
In utter darkness swallowed up
Until the Consummation.
The clouds are burst, the shades dispersed;
Descending from above
With wounded hands our Prophet stands,
And bears the Law of Love.
Receive it then, believe it then,
As childlike spirits can;
Receive, believe, and thou shalt live,
And thou shalt Love, O man!
Not so indeed shall be our creed,-
To wait a new commission,
As if again revealed to men
Could be the heavenly Vision;
The priceless thing He died to bring
From out the veil, to miss,
While Host and Cup are lifted up
On countless Calvarys.
'Among the dead,' an angel said,
'Seek not the living Christ.'
The type is done, the real begun,
Behold the Eucharist!
The curse is spent, the veil is rent,
And face to face we meet Him,
With chanting choirs and incense fires
On every altar greet Him.
Receive it then, believe it then,
As childlike spirits can;
Receive, believe, and thou shalt live,
And thou shalt Love, O man!