The King of glory comes to earth from God the Father given, the heralds of his royal birth the angel host of heaven; his kingly robe the swathing bands, his homage Mary's gaze, beyond the stars his kingdom stands to everlasting days. The King of glory comes unknown, the infant Lord of all; a mother's lap his only throne, his state a cattle stall. Before their naked new-born King the ox and ass are dumb, while countless choirs of angels sing to see his kingdom come. The King of glory comes to die in poverty and scorn, upon a donkey riding by to claim a crown of thorn. Creation's Lord of time and space is come to meet his hour, his triumph-song the word of grace, and love his only power. The King of glory comes in peace, and hope is ours again, as life and love and joy increase and faith and freedom reign. The child of all our Christmas songs, his cross and passion past, will right the sum of human wrongs and bring us home at last.