Immortal, invisible, God only wise, in light inaccessible His from our eyes. O God beyond all time, beyond understanding, beyond human frame—You dwell in glory I cannot see, and yet You reach into the shadows where I tremble. You are veiled in light (1 Timothy 6:16), yet You are the light of the world (John 8:12). How can it be? How can the fire of Sinai also be the whisper in my soul? You are the Wisdom who laid earth’s foundation (Proverbs 8:27–31), and yet You are the Father who listens when I pray in silence and tears.
Most blessed, most glorious, the Ancient of Days, Almighty, victorious—Thy great Name we praise. You have no beginning. You do not age, fade, weaken, or change. The kingdoms of this world crumble like dust in wind, but You reign, still, and forever (Daniel 7:9–14). And still, You know me. Still, You want me. Still, You love me. This is the wonder my soul cannot contain.
Your testing, unhasting, and silent as light, not wanting, nor wasting—Thou rules in the darkest of nights. You are not rushed. You are not delayed. You are never anxious. You do not slumber or sleep (Psalm 121:4). While I panic and plan, You reign with perfect timing, perfect peace, perfect purpose. Even when I feel forgotten, You are moving. Even when I cannot hear, You are speaking.
Thy justice like mountains high soaring above, Thy clouds which are fountains of goodness and love. Your justice is not like mine—not small, not petty, not quick to burn and slow to heal. It is vast and eternal, holy and pure, a river that will one day flood every wrong with right (Amos 5:24). Your love is not fickle—it is covenant. It is cross blood. It is forever.
To all life Thou divest, to both great and small, in all life Thou livest—the true life of all. You are not distant. You are not detached. You are the breath in our lungs (Acts 17:25), the pulse behind the stars, the song beneath all silence. Whether rich or poor, saint or struggler, You sustain. You see. You save.
We blossom and flourish as leaves on the tree, and wither and perish—but naught changeth Thee. We are fragile—a breath, a shadow, a mist (James 4:14). But You are eternal. Everything else fades. But You remain. You were God before my first cry, and You will still be God when I draw my last breath. So I anchor myself to the One who does not change. To the Rock that does not move (Psalm 18:2). To the One who holds the withering and says, “Behold, I make all things new.” (Revelation 21:5)
Great Father of glory, pure Father of light, Thine angels adore Thee, all veiling their sight. What angels see and still cover their faces—let me worship in awe. Let me not grow casual with the Holy. Let me not treat majesty like routine. I want to know You not just in comfort, but in reverence. Not just in closeness, but in trembling.
All laid we would render—O help us to see, ‘Tis only the splendor of light hide Thee. Open my eyes, O Lord. Not just to Your gifts but to You. Open the eyes of my heart to see the weight of Your glory (Ephesians 1:18), to see beyond the veil, to behold even a glimpse of the Holy One. Because if I truly saw You—everything else would fall silent. Immortal, invisible… yet here. Yet near. Yet mine.
To You alone be honor and dominion and awe, forever and ever.
Amen