Behold, He Comes, The Glorious King
Behold He comes! the glorious King
Whom once a cross upbore;
Let saints redeemed His praises sing,
And angels 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 heavens 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.
Words: Joseph Tritton