Lord, we are blind, we mortals blind
by Isaac Watts·1707·Meter 8.8.8.8 (LM)
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 insufferably bright,
And lays beneath his sacred feet
Substantial beams of gloomy night.
4
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.