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The song of GOD, so nobly sung

By Angels in a higher sphere,

Shall my unworthy heart and tongue

Attempt its numbers here?


With spirit cleaving to the dust,

How should I hope to glow and soar?

How speak of heavenly joy and trust,

Till I have felt them more?

An heir of guilt, a child of sin,

An exile in a world like this,

What should I find without, within,

To match with Him and His?

In vain I spread my flickering wings;

In vain I strive aloft to flee:

Great LORD of lords, and KING of kings,

I cannot sing of Thee!

I want a Seraph's lofty voice,

I want a Seraph's soaring wing,

Before I make such themes my choice,

And GOD's dread glories sing.

Thou needest not a note of mine

To swell the triumphs of Thy throne,

Where myriads round Thee bend and shine,

And Heaven is all Thy own!

No rather let me sit and sigh,

And drop contrition's silent tear:

Praise is the task of saints on high;

But prayer of sinners here.

The song of GOD, that glorious song,--

From me in such a world as this?--

O no! a worthier heart and tongue

Must speak of Him and His!

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