Where is the place of Your Transfiguration? Mount Tabor or Mount Hermon—I cannot say. I do not seek it on a map's foundation— In my own heart I wish to find that way. Jesus, appear to us in Your glory, As to Your disciples on that mountain high, So we may know the Kingdom's sacred story Not in the future, but beneath this sky. As Your disciples fell upon their knees, So will I fall before Your holy feet, And lose myself in reverent reveries, Where earth and Heaven in communion meet. O God, I long to look upon Your face, And touch the hem of Your resplendent robe, To let my soul ascend to that high place Where angels sing hosannas through the globe. To rise from falsehood and from vanity, To leave behind all wounds and earthly care, To see Your cross and climb Golgotha's trinity, Where all the roads of earthly life converge there. In humbleness I climb the holy height, Forgive me—I bring thorns, not laurel crown, A penitent heart, sincere and bright, But faith still small as mustard seed renown. You'll forgive me and lift the heavy load, Clothe me in white and sun-effulgent dress— And pain and tears will fade from sorrow's road, And once again my soul will sing and bless. O Mount of my Transfiguration true! There, at the cross where fell each crimson drop, I'll touch Your image with a heart made new, And shine with Your renewal without stop.
