LXXXII. Isaiah's Obedience to the heavenly Vision.

OUR GOD ascends his lofty Throne,
Array'd in Majesty unknown;
His Lustre all the Temple fills,
And spreads o'er all th' ethereal Hills.

The holy, holy, holy LORD,
By all the Seraphim ador'd,
And, while they stand beneath his Seat,
They veil their Faces, and their Feet.

And can a sinful Worm endure
The Presence of a GOD so pure?
Or these polluted Lips proclaim,
The Honours of so grand a Name?

O for thine Altar's glowing Coal,
To touch my Lips, to fire my Soul,
To purge the sordid Dross away,
And into Crystal turn my Clay.

Then if a Messenger thou ask,
A Lab'rer for the hardest Task,
Thro' all my Weakness, and my Fear,
Love shall reply, "Thy Servant's here".

Nor should my willing Soul complain,
Tho' all it's Efforts seem'd in vain;
It ample Recompence shall be,
But to have wrought, my GOD, for thee.