Come Not, O Lord

COME not, O Lord, in the dread robe of splendor

Thou worest on the Mount, in the day of Thine ire;

Come veiled in those shadows, deep, awful, but tender,

Which Mercy flings over Thy features of fire.

Lord, Thou rememberest the night, when Thy nation

Stood fronting her foe by the red-rolling stream;

On Egypt Thy pillar frowned dark desolation,

While Israel basked all the night in its beam.

So, when the dread clouds of anger enfold Thee,

From us, in Thy mercy, the dark side remove;

While shrouded in terror the guilty behold Thee,

Oh, turn upon us the mild light of Thy love!