The angels stand before the throne, and fly above and around it, singing, "Holy! Holy! Holy!" They praise the Lord night and day, and we enter into that praise.
We enter into it, and then we blow right by it.
There is praise available to us that the angels cannot know. We are not His servants, as the angels are, but His children. We are healed by the tenderness of His love.
The vast emptiness of space knows His enormity. The heat of the galaxies knows His power. The balance of the solar system knows His architecture. The cycle of life on earth knows His precision. The wild animals know His provision. The angels know His purity. But from the smallest microbe to the vastness of the universe to the greatest of His spiritual servants, none of
them can add to His praise the things we experience of Him.
He lavishes His care on us.
Tender! Tender! Tender, is the Lord God our Daddy!