how beautiful thy mercy seat in depths of burning light.
How dread are thine eternal years, O everlasting Lord,
by prostrate spirits day and night incessantly adored.
How wonderful, how beautiful, the sight of thee must be;
thy endless wisdom, boundless power, and glorious purity
O how I fear thee, living God, with deep and tender fear;
and worship thee with trembling hope and penitential tears
Yet, I may love thee, too, O Lord, almighty as thou art;
for thou hast stooped to ask of me the love of my poor heart
No earthly father loves like thee, no mother, e’er so mild,
bears and forbears as thou hast done with me, thy sinful child.
Only to sit and think of God, oh what a joy it is
to think the thought, to breathe the name, Earth has no higher bliss.
Father of Jesus, love’s reward, what rapture it will be
prostrate before thy throne to lie and gaze, and gaze on thee.
Frederick Faber, 1849
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