1 Lord, we are blind, we Mortals blind,
We can't behold thy bright Abode;
O 'tis beyond a Creature-mind,
To glance a Thought half-way to God!

2 Infinite Leagues beyond the Sky,
The great Eternal reigns alone,
Where neither Wings nor Souls can fly,
Nor Angels climb the topless Throne.

3 The Lord of Glory builds his Seat
Of Gems insuperably bright,
And lays beneath his sacred Feet
Substantial Beams of gloomy Night.

4 Yet, Glorious Lord, thy gracious Eyes
Look through, and chear us from above'
Beyond our Praise thy Grandeur flies,
Yet we adore, and yet we love.