His throne is set among the heavens,
The firmament a palace stands,
Upon this earth He placeth His feet,
And holds His sway o’er every land.
What glorious place have we arrayed,
What holy seat do now we gild?
He who exceeds the heaven’s boundaries,
Where is His house that now we build?
No greater beauty than all the skies,
No higher wonder than heaven’s frame,
For all these things which hence have been,
Are wonders which His hand hath made.
Though heaven’s wonders shine abroad,
And countless stars in glorious art,
Yet when to earth His face He turneth,
He looks to those of broken heart
The contrite ones He deems the greatest,
the spirit poor He counteth blessed,
And against the stars in shining beauty,
His mercy trounceth all the rest
For who is lowly man that God,
Should turn such Holy eyes toward him?
Oh, tis boundless love and mercy,
For He sees Christ and not our sin.
And so prepare His habitation,
Make straight the way for heaven’s King
Make diligent thy heart’s contrition,
Bought now by Christ, thy tribute bring
Let all the World be cast in silence,
Let the fairest saint’s soft gaze be dim,
All these things cast off as rubbish,
Oh for a heart that pleaseth Him!
“He with His hands hath made the heavens,
Have ye for Him a dwelling place?”
“We ring to Him a contrite spirit,
Made glorious by His precious grace.”