With folded wings they cover their faces;
Those sinless sons of light.
The Terror of Kings, whose glory displaces,
Sits robed in consummate might.
Echoing praise declares His dominion,
Through earth, and sky, and sea.
The Ancient of Days in heaven’s pavilion,
Surrounded in mystery.
The threshold moved at the voice of the throng,
The house was filled with smoke.
His holiness proved through antiphonal song,
By the Three-fold word they spoke.
Trembling I stand, my words nearly falter,
‘I am undone! Unclean!’
But coals in his hand from God’s burning altar,
Now claim my lips for the King.