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