Since Sunday morning, the words of this hymn have rolled through my mind. Not quietly, not gently. Persistently.Holy, holy, holy Lord,
God of Hosts on high adored!
Who like me Thy praise should sing? Oh Almighty King!
Holy, holy, holy Lord,
God of Hosts on high, adored!
God of Hosts on high adored!
Who like me Thy praise should sing? Oh Almighty King!
Holy, holy, holy Lord,
God of Hosts on high, adored!
You can sing a song like this for years, and suddenly the words leap at you in a way you cannot escape.
Who like me?
I've always loved the bridge to this song - "On Zion's Glorious Summit". The verses, too, are beautiful, reflecting the hosts from Revelation:
On Zion's glorious summit, stood
a num'rous host redeemed by blood
They hymned their King in strains divine
I heard the song and strove to join.
But the bridge, sung softly, in piano, is exquisite. For its' harmonies, and now, for its' words, touching me still, deeply, two days later.
"Who like me..." and then I could sing no more.
One tiny voice surrounded by the mighty voices of creation - the crescendo of crashing waves, the chorus of flowers opening at dawn, accompanied by a descant of waking trees. The refrain of the sun as it climbs into the sky; the passage of seasons, consistent, dutiful; the encore of nature as it awaits Messiah's return.
Who like me Thy praise should sing?
Who am I, Lord, that my praise is beautiful to you? Who am I, Lord, that you allow me to speak your name? Who am I, Lord, that my name is safe on your lips?
Oh, Almighty King!
I closed my mouth, my eyes; and stood, listening to the voices swirling around me, lifted to the throne, and I could not hold back the tears. How did I miss this? A thousand times I've heard it sung - yet only now do I begin to grasp what it means!
The psalmist wrote of God in Psalm 29 -
The voice of the Lord echoes above the sea.
The God of glory thunders.
The Lord thunders over the mighty sea.
The voice of the Lord is powerful;
the voice of the Lord is majestic.
The voice of the Lord splits the mighty cedars;
the Lord shatters the cedars of Lebanon.
This God who uses his own voice to rule over His creation, who thunders in His glory, who shatters cedars with His voice, hears my small, insignificant, off-key warblings, soaring in praise to Him, and He is pleased.
Holy. Holy. Holy Lord.
God of Hosts on high, adored.
My voice is lifted in so many un-lovely ways throughout the day. It's hard to imagine that anything I say - or sing - from an ugly mouth could be beautiful to Him.
But I will hymn my King, and whether they be strains divine, or weak, anguished whispers, I will join the everlasting song.
Day after day. Night after night.
From the glorious summit of my knees.
"Holy, holy, holy is the Lord God, the Almighty - the one who always was, who is, and who is still to come." Revelation 4:8b
Who like me?
I've always loved the bridge to this song - "On Zion's Glorious Summit". The verses, too, are beautiful, reflecting the hosts from Revelation:
On Zion's glorious summit, stood
a num'rous host redeemed by blood
They hymned their King in strains divine
I heard the song and strove to join.
But the bridge, sung softly, in piano, is exquisite. For its' harmonies, and now, for its' words, touching me still, deeply, two days later.
"Who like me..." and then I could sing no more.
One tiny voice surrounded by the mighty voices of creation - the crescendo of crashing waves, the chorus of flowers opening at dawn, accompanied by a descant of waking trees. The refrain of the sun as it climbs into the sky; the passage of seasons, consistent, dutiful; the encore of nature as it awaits Messiah's return.
Who like me Thy praise should sing?
Who am I, Lord, that my praise is beautiful to you? Who am I, Lord, that you allow me to speak your name? Who am I, Lord, that my name is safe on your lips?
Oh, Almighty King!
I closed my mouth, my eyes; and stood, listening to the voices swirling around me, lifted to the throne, and I could not hold back the tears. How did I miss this? A thousand times I've heard it sung - yet only now do I begin to grasp what it means!
The psalmist wrote of God in Psalm 29 -
The voice of the Lord echoes above the sea.
The God of glory thunders.
The Lord thunders over the mighty sea.
The voice of the Lord is powerful;
the voice of the Lord is majestic.
The voice of the Lord splits the mighty cedars;
the Lord shatters the cedars of Lebanon.
This God who uses his own voice to rule over His creation, who thunders in His glory, who shatters cedars with His voice, hears my small, insignificant, off-key warblings, soaring in praise to Him, and He is pleased.
Holy. Holy. Holy Lord.
God of Hosts on high, adored.
My voice is lifted in so many un-lovely ways throughout the day. It's hard to imagine that anything I say - or sing - from an ugly mouth could be beautiful to Him.
But I will hymn my King, and whether they be strains divine, or weak, anguished whispers, I will join the everlasting song.
Day after day. Night after night.
From the glorious summit of my knees.
"Holy, holy, holy is the Lord God, the Almighty - the one who always was, who is, and who is still to come." Revelation 4:8b
5 fellow travelers shared:
Your words are so meaningful to me this morning, honey. They are giving me peace, even though I feel the burden of issues around me. God has truly blessed you with this wonderful gift of reflection and eloquence. I love you!
Absolutely beautiful...and so convicting and humbling.
Beautiful blog, too.
(that picture of you in your profile is darling!)
You certainly have a way with words. A God-given gift.
As a singer, there is nothing that brings me closer to God than singing to him when I am alone. It's just me, my gift, and my God. That's worship for me.
That was lovely. And compelling. Thank you for posting so transparently.
Just surfing through from the 1000 things...
How beautiful...and your other posts...inspiring too.
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