When we say give God Glory or “Glory to God” I think it is more a giving of acknowledgement than the glory itself.
Yes , @Shakuhachi , and a problem may arise from the translation of Hebrew and Greek into English . Clearly the use of the word “glory” has different connotations , flavours as we see it used , especially in the Bible .
I was reading a quote from the Jesuit poet Gerard Manley Hopkins yesterday , and I find some of his words good pointers towards getting into the concept of “glory” . I don’t know what you think .
“All things therefore are charged with love, are charged with God and if we knew how to touch them give off sparks and take fire, yield drops and flow, ring and tell of him.”
― Gerard Manley Hopkins, Letters to Robert Bridges and Correspondence with Richard Watson Dixon .
“To lift up the hands in prayer gives God glory, but a man with a dungfork in his hand, a woman with a slop pail, give Him glory, too. God is so great that all things give Him glory if you mean that they should.”
― Gerard Manley Hopkins .
" Pied Beauty— "
Glory be to God for dappled things–
For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow;
For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim;
Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches’ wings;
Landscape plotted and pieced–fold, fallow, and plough;
And all trades, their gear and tackle and trim.
All things counter, original, spare, strange;
Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?)
With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim;
He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change:
Praise Him.”
― Gerard Manley Hopkins .
And above all his poem “God’s Grandeur” - - - - - - - - -
The world is charged with the grandeur of God.
It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;
It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil
Crushed. Why do men then now not reck his rod?
Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;
And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;
And wears man’s smudge and shares man’s smell: the soil
Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.
And for all this, nature is never spent;
There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;
And though the last lights off the black West went
Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs —
Because the Holy Ghost over the bent
World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.