Behold He comes! the glo­ri­ous King
Whom once a cross up­bore;
Let saints re­deemed His prais­es sing,
And an­gel hosts adore.

The reed, the pur­ple, and the thorn,
Are lost in tri­umph now;
His per­son robes of light adorn,
And crowns of gold His brow.

Dear Lord, no more des­pised, dis­owned,
A vic­tim bound and slain;
But in the pow­er of God en­throned,
Thou dost re­turn to reign.

To Thee the world its trea­sure brings;
To Thee its migh­ty bow;
To Thee the Church ex­ult­ing springs;
Her So­ver­eign, Sav­ior Thou!

Beneath Thy touch, be­neath Thy smile,
New heav’ns and earth ap­pear;
No sin their beau­ty to de­file,
Nor dim them with a tear.

Thrice hap­py hour! and those thrice-blest
That ga­ther round Thy throne!
They share the hon­ors of Thy rest,
Who have Thy con­flict known.