Faces co­vered, wings re­splen­dent,
Seraphim be­fore Him bow!
Angels trem­ble, mar­tyrs weep,
And saints per­fect­ed praise Him now!
Holy is the an­gels’ Maker,
He who spread His stars in the skies.
Holy is the Judge of Cre­ation,
All lies bare be­fore His eyes!

Woe is me, for I am ru­ined!
For my eyes have seen the King!
Robed in right­eous­ness, and ho­ly:
Hear the Voice of Judg­ment ring!
All un­clean, my lips, my spir­it,
Vile and foul in all I do!
All cor­rupt, my heart with­in me,
Wretched, wick­ed through and through!

Every hope I must aban­don!
Guilty, I await His stroke.
Now must come His righ­teous sen­tence:
Wait! A Bright Form parts the smoke!
Bleeding feet stride through the tem­ple!
Christ ap­proach­es, weep­ing love!
Wounded hands re­move my fil­thi­ness,
God’s ca­ress in every move.

Freely righ­teous! Full atone­ment!
Justified, from sin set free!
By the word of God the Fa­ther,
I’m de­clared as pure as HE!
At the Cross, His wounds ac­quit me!
Fatal wounds pro­claim His praise!
And the Emp­ty Tomb sings His glo­ries:
Justice is as­suaged by Grace!