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ADDITIONAL AND 
Prophets, apostles, all are gone — 
Nought tells thee where the glory shone* 
Raise thy sublimest thoughts, and still 
They love to rest on Tabor’s hill. 
Tabor ! the very sound will bring 
Such theme as angels love to sing. 
Tabor ! the blest Redeemer there 
Spoke of the cross He soon would bear ; 
Y et glory from the eternal throne 
Shone round Him there—all, all his own.” 
“ Fair flower ! thy wondrous tale I love. 
For angels listen from above — 
And did’st thou deck the very sod 
Where my incarnate Saviour trod 1 
O tell me more, thou amaranth flower — 
More of His wisdom, love, and power ; 
O tell me is that land most fair— 
Are all the flowers unfading there ? 
And if a mortal tread that hill. 
Will not each thought soar heav’n-ward still 
Will he not feel celestial birth, 
All wing’d for heaven, and loos’d from earth 1 
“ Christian ! the glory’s all past by 
That beam’d on Tabor wondrously — 
The sounds miraculous are still, 
And earthly winds breathe round the hill ; 
