O Lord, the King of glo­ry!
O great and migh­ty King!
The pil­grim old and hoa­ry,
May tri­bute to Thee bring;
Manhood with har­vest la­den
May ma­trons lead to see
Each glow­ing youth and maid­en
Their glean­ings bring to Thee.
But that which most re­joic­es
Thee and the host above,
Is when child­ren lift their voic­es,
And sing the Sav­ior’s love.

O Lord, the King of glo­ry!
O great and migh­ty King!
The hills, tho’ old and hoa­ry,
May clap their hands and sing;
The wan­der­ing waves of ocean
May sway to mu­sic sweet;
The dark­est world’s de­vo­tion
May Thy ap­prov­al meet.
But that which most re­joic­es
Thee and the host above,
Is when child­ren lift their voices,
And sing the Sav­ior’s love.

O Lord, the King of glo­ry!
O great and migh­ty King!
The stars may tell their sto­ry,
The heav’n­ly choirs may sing;
The el­ders Thee ad­or­ing
May kneel be­fore the throne;
Cherub and se­raph soar­ing
May chant the praise Thine own.
But that which most re­joic­es
Thee and the host ab­ove,
Is when child­ren lift their voic­es,
And sing the Sav­ior’s love.

O Lord, the King of glo­ry!
O great and migh­ty King!
We love to hear the sto­ry
Of Him to whom we cling;
Still in His arms He rais­es
And smiles as once He smiled,
On all who sing Thy prais­es,
As sings a lit­tle child.
For that which most re­joic­es
Thee and the host above,
Is when child­ren lift their voic­es,
And sing the Sav­ior’s love.