O Christ, our King, cre­at­or, Lord,
Savior of all who trust Thy Word,
To them who seek Thee ev­er near,
Now to our prais­es bend Thine ear.

In Thy dear cross a grace is found,
It flows from ev­ery stream­ing wound,
Whose pow­er our in­bred sin con­trols,
Breaks the firm bond, and frees our souls.

Thou didst cre­ate the stars of night,
Yet Thou hast veiled in flesh Thy light,
Hast deigned a mor­tal form to wear,
A mor­tal’s pain­ful lot to bear.

When Thou didst hang up­on the tree,
The quak­ing earth ack­now­ledged Thee,
When Thou didst there yield up Thy breath
The world grew dark as shades of death.

Now in the Fa­ther’s glo­ry high
Great Con­quer­or, ne­ver more to die,
Us by Thy migh­ty pow­er de­fend,
And reign through ag­es with­out end.