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.