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The Mountain

by Paul Purday

The clouds were playing gently, their
hide-and-seek surround
The fading beauty of the mountains
Some peaks vanishing while some were proudly crowned
With puffs of smoke like magic fountains
At last the glory of their rugged slopes exposed
Showing their craggy architecture
Where sweeping fear and vertigo to climbers posed
A fear of falling, their conjecture.
And soon the visitors will sadly turn away
With memories and photos showing
A brief encounter with a memorable display
A wistful longing marked their going.

Could we with hopefulness ascend the mount of God?
Could we with longing reach the summit?
Could we spend secret times with Him our feet unshod?
Each one must answer that or plummet
Into the the miry depths of self-reliant law
Where glorious Grace has forfeited its savour
And where the love of God no longer fills with awe
No longer sees His face with favour.
My words are difficult to write and do not flow
As usually, but now are calling
The way back home where hearts are soon aglow
With Him, our former days recalling.

Our home is Him, and climbing energised by Grace
The Mount of God our destination
The longing to approach Him in the secret place
Where He will give through revelation
Those mysteries of His heart of love, where we would dwell
A place of greatest satisfaction
We overflow within and will His praises swell
And all because of love's transaction
The blood is on the Mercy Seat, the only way
That we can understand His story
A place where we will know His heart and soon survey
The eternal splendour of His glory.

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Book by Paul Purday

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