Jesus, Thou ev­er­last­ing king,
Accept the trib­ute which we bring;
Accept the well de­served re­nown,
And wear our prais­es as Thy crown.

Daughters of Zi­on, come, be­hold
The crown of hon­or and of gold
Which the glad church, with joys un­known,
Placed on the head of So­lo­mon.

Let ev­ery act of wor­ship be
Like our es­pous­als, Lord, to Thee;
Like the dear hour when from above,
We first re­ceived Thy pledge of love.

The glad­ness of that hap­py day!
Our hearts would wish it long to stay;
Nor let our faith for­sake its hold,
Nor com­fort sink, nor love grow cold.

Each fol­low­ing min­ute, as it flies,
Increase Thy praise, im­prove our joys,
Till we are raised to sing Thy name,
At the great sup­per of the Lamb.

O that the months would roll away,
And bring that co­ro­na­tion day!
The King of Grace shall fill the throne,
With all His Fa­ther’s glo­ries on.