How shall I sing that ma­jes­ty
Which an­gels do ad­mire?
Let dust in dust and si­lence lie;
Sing, sing, ye heav­en­ly choir.
Thousands of thou­sands stand around
Thy throne, O God most high;
Ten thou­sand times ten thou­sand sound
Thy praise; but who am I?

Thy bright­ness un­to them ap­pears,
Whilst I Thy foot­steps trace;
A sound of God comes to my ears,
But they be­hold Thy face.
They sing be­cause Thou art their sun;
Lord, send a beam on me;
For where Hea­ven is but once be­gun
There al­le­lu­ias be.

Enlighten with faith’s light my heart,
Inflame it with love’s fire;
Then shall I sing and bear a part
With that ce­les­ti­al choir.
I shall, I fear, be dark and cold,
With all my fire and light;
Yet when Thou dost ac­cept their gold,
Lord, trea­sure up my mite.

How great a be­ing, Lord, is Thine,
Which doth all be­ings keep!
Thy know­ledge is the on­ly line
To sound so vast a deep.
Thou art a sea with­out a shore,
A sun with­out a sphere;
Thy time is now and ev­er­more,
Thy place is ev­ery­where.