Perfection of God.
1 Thou art, almighty Lord of all,
From everlasting still the same;
Before thee dazzling seraphs fall,
And veil their faces in a flame,
To see such bright perfections glow--
Such floods of glory from thee flow.
2 What mortal hand shall dare to paint
A semblance of thy glory, Lord?
The brightest rainbow-tints are faint;
The brightest stars of heaven afford
But dim effusions of those rays
Of light that round Jehovah blaze.
3 The sun himself is but a gleam,
A transient meteor, from thy throne;
And every frail and fickle beam,
That ever in creation shone,
Is nothing, Lord, compared to thee
In thy own vast immensity.
4 But though thy brightness may create
All worship from the hosts above,
What most thy name must elevate
Is, that thou art a God of love;
And mercy is the central sun
Of all thy glories joined in one.