Our God Ascends His Lofty Throne

Our God as­cends His lof­ty throne

Arrayed in ma­jes­ty un­known;

His lus­ter all the tem­ple fills

And spreads ov­er all th’ethe­re­al hills.

The ho­ly

ho­ly

ho­ly Lord

By all the se­ra­phim ad­ored

And

while they stand be­neath His seat

They veil their fac­es

and their feet.

And can a sin­ful worm en­dure

The pre­sence of a God so pure?

Or these pol­lut­ed lips pro­claim

The hon­ors of so grand a name?

O for Thine al­tar’s glow­ing coal

To touch my lips

to fire my soul

To purge the sor­did dross away

And in­to crys­tal turn my clay.

Then if a mes­sen­ger Thou ask

A la­bor­er for the hard­est task

Thro’ all my weak­ness

and my fear

Love shall re­ply

Thy serv­ant’s here.

Nor should my will­ing soul com­plain

Tho’ all its ef­forts seemed in vain;

It am­ple re­com­pense shall be

But to have wrought

my God

for Thee.