The head that once was crowned with thorns
Is crowned with glo­ry now;
A roy­al di­adem ad­orns
The migh­ty vic­tor’s brow.

The high­est place that Heav’n af­fords
Belongs to Him by right;
The King of kings and Lord of lords,
And Heav­en’s eter­nal Light.

The joy of all who dwell ab­ove,
The joy of all be­low,
To whom He ma­ni­fests His love,
And grants His name to know.

To them the cross with all its shame,
With all its grace, is giv’n;
Their name an ev­er­last­ing name,
Their joy the joy of Heav’n.

They suf­fer with their Lord be­low;
They reign with Him ab­ove;
Their pro­fit and their joy to know
The mys­te­ry of His love.

The cross He bore is life and health,
Though shame and death to Him,
His peo­ple’s hope, His peo­ple’s wealth,
Their ev­er­last­ing theme.