Above yon clear blue sky,
Beyond our fee­ble sight,
The God of glo­ry dwells on high
In ev­er­last­ing light.
Around His glo­ri­ous throne
The ho­ly an­gels stand;
In songs of praise their king they own,
Or fly at His com­mand.

And we may praise Him, too,
And serve Him here be­low;
He stoops to mark what child­ren do,
Their in­most thoughts to know;
And though He reigns above,
Where an­gels cease­less praise,
He will ac­cept our hum­ble love,
And lead us in His ways.

O may we hum­bly seek
To do His ho­ly will,
And try, with thank­ful hearts and meek,
To sing His prais­es still;
And then for Je­sus’ sake,
Who came for us to die,
Our hap­py spi­rits He will take
To praise Him in the sky.