Crown him with many crowns,
the Lamb upon his throne;
hark! how the heav’nly anthem drowns
all music but its own:
awake, my soul, and sing
of him who died for thee,
and hail him as thy matchless King
through all eternity.
Crown him the Lord of life,
triumphant o’er the grave,
who rose victorious from the strife
for those he came to save.
His glories now we sing,
who died and reigns on high;
he died, eternal life to bring,
and lives that death may die.
Crown him the Lord of love;
behold his hands and side,
rich wounds, yet visible above,
in beauty glorified:
no angel in the sky
can fully bear that sight,
but downward bends his burning eye
at mysteries so bright.
Crown him the Lord of peace;
whose pow’r a scepter sways
from pole to pole, that wars may cease,
absorbed in pray’r and praise:
his reign shall know no end;
and round his pierced feet
fair flow’rs of paradise extend
their fragrance ever sweet.
Crown him the Lord of years,
the Potentate of time;
Creator of the rolling spheres,
ineffably sublime:
all hail, Redeemer, hail!
for thou hast died for me:
thy praise shall never, never fail
throughout eternity.