The King of Saints, How Fair His Face

The King of saints

how fair His face;

Adorned with ma­jes­ty and grace!

He comes with bless­ings from ab­ove

And wins the na­tions to His love.

At His right hand our eyes be­hold

The queen ar­rayed in pur­est gold;

The world ad­mires her heav’n­ly dress

Her robe of joy and right­eous­ness.

He forms her beau­ties like His own;

He calls and seats her near His throne;

Fair strang­er

let thine heart for­get

The id­ols of thy na­tive state.

So shall the King the more re­joice

In thee

the fa­vo­rite of His choice;

Let Him be loved and yet ad­ored

For He’s thy mak­er and thy Lord.

O hap­py hour

when thou shalt rise

To His fair pal­ace in the skies

And all thy sons (a nu­mer­ous train)

Each like a prince in glo­ry reign!

Let end­less hon­ors crown His head;

Let ev­ery age His prais­es spread;

While we with cheer­ful songs ap­prove

The con­de­scen­sions of His love.