Look, ye saints, the sight is glor'ous;
See the Man of Sorrows now;
From the fight returned victor'ous
Ev'ry knee to Him shall bow;
Crowns become the Victor's brow.
Crown the Saviour, angels, crown Him,
Rich the trophies Jesus brings;
In the seat of pow'r enthrone Him,
While the heav'nly conclave rings:
Crown the Saviour King of kings.
Hark! those bursts of acclamation!
Hark! those loud triumphant chords!
Jesus takes the highest station;
Oh, what joy the sight affords!
King of kings, and Lord of lords.