Lord, where will I find You?
Your place is remote and concealed.
And where will I not find You?
Your being fills the world.
Creator of All, You are in all that is small.
To the far You are near, to the near You are here.
An ark was Your home—so is heaven’s dome.
Its Hosts sing Your praises and You are host to their clan.
The spheres cannot hold You, but a room can.
Alone and known, above on Your throne,
You are closer to man than his own skin and bone.
His words proclaim that it was You who made him.
Who does not know You? Your yoke is his guide.
Who does not pray to You to provide?
I have longed for Your presence, I have called You in Your absence,
As I set out to greet You I have found you come to meet me:
In Your holiness I saw You, in the wonder of Your glory.
Yet who has not see You, if ever he saw,
In skies that are silent, stars loud with awe?
Did You truly decide to reside in man’s midst?
O let him but trust in that, made out of dust,
Though You dwell in solitude, sacred and blessed!
The seraphs extol You from their supreme height:
They carry Your seat–and You, the world’s weight.