A Song of the King
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My theme is of the King,
The living Word is He!
Him shall His own beloved sing, His beauty see.
His lips o'erflow with grace,
Like lilies dropping myrrh;
The fragrance of the Holy Place
All hearts must stir.
A Warrior, sublime
In majesty, is He.
By Him the chaos of all time
Rebuked shall be.
The Lowly One and True
Shall triumph and prevail.
His own right hand a work must do
That cannot fail.
Thy throne, O God, is set
For ever and for aye.
Thy upright sceptre never yet
Was turned away.
Because Thou hatedst wrong,
And righteousness didst love,
Surpassing joys to Thee belong
All joys above!
Jehovah's "Fellow," Thou
Couldst all endure, alone.
Forsaken of Thy God, and now
Set on His throne!
Thy garments are perfume
Cassia, aloes, myrrh:
That earth for Thee contained "no room
God doth aver.
The everlasting doors
Flew open wide for Thee.
The King of Glory, and His stores
Of grace we see.
Above Thy fellows Thou,
Most Blessed One! art crowned.
Let all the earth Thy rights avow,
Thy praises sound.
Sweet harpings fill the air
From Thine own glory's place;
The trophies of Thy conquests there
Attest Thy grace.
Kings' daughters Thee obey,
And, meek at Thy right hand,
In righteousness divine for aye
Thy Wife shall stand.
O Daughter! hearken thou;
Attend, and bow thine ear:
Forget thy birth, thy country now, Once counted dear.
The King shall thus desire
Thee in His courts to shine;
Thy reverence He doth require -
This Lord is thine! H. K. B.