He sits on his throne in the wonderful city,
And I—I am ashes and dust!
Yet I am at rest in His wonderful pity,
And I in his promises trust.
He lighteth the stars, and they shine in their places;
He maketh his sun like a flame;
But better and brighter to Him are the faces
Of mortals that call on his name.
Nay, nay! do not tell me that, wrapped in his glory.
He hears not my voice when I cry;