With glo­ri­ous clouds en­com­passed round,
Whom an­gels dim­ly see,
Will the Un­search­able be found,
Or God ap­pear to me?

Will He for­sake His throne above,
Himself to men im­part?
Answer, Thou Man of grief and love,
And speak it to my heart.

Didst Thou not in our flesh ap­pear,
And live and die be­low,
That I may now per­ceive Thee near,
And my Re­deem­er know?

Come, then, and to my soul re­veal
The heights and depths of grace,
Those wounds which all my sor­rows heal,
Which all my sins ef­face.

Then shall I see in His own light,
Whom an­gels dimly see:
And gaze, trans­port­ed at the sight,
To all eter­ni­ty.