Lord, we are blind, we mor­tals blind,
We can’t be­hold Thy bright abode;
O ’tis be­yond a crea­ture’s mind
To glance a thought half way to God.

Infinite leagues be­yond the sky
The great Eter­nal reigns alone,
Where nei­ther wings nor souls can fly,
Nor an­gels climb the top­less throne.

The Lord of glo­ry builds His seat
Of gems in­suf­fer­ab­ly bright,
And lays be­neath His sac­red feet
Substantial beams of gloomy night.

Yet, glo­ri­ous Lord, Thy gra­cious eyes
Look through, and cheer us from above;
Beyond our praise Thy grand­eur flies,
Yet we ad­ore, and yet we love.