C. M. The Divine glories above our reason. How wondrous great, how glorious bright, Must our Creator be, Who dwells amidst the dazzling light Of vast infinity! Our soaring spirits upwards rise Toward the celestial throne; Fain would we see the blessed Three, And the Almighty One. Our reason stretches all its wings, And climbs above the skies; But still how far beneath thy feet Our grov'lling reason lies! [Lord, here we bend our humble souls, And awfully adore; For the weak pinions of our mind Can stretch a thought no more.] Thy glories infinitely rise Above our lab'ring tongue; In vain the highest seraph tries To form an equal song. [In humble notes our faith adores The great mysterious King, While angels strain their nobler powers, And sweep the immortal string.] |