1 O Jesus, Lord, 'tis joy to know
Thy path is o'er of shame and woe,
For us so meekly trod:
All finished is Thy work of toil,
Thou reapest now the fruit and spoil,
Exalted by our God.

2 Thy holy head, once bound with thorns,
The crown of glory now adorns;
Thy seat, the Father's throne;
O Lord, e'en now we sing Thy praise,
Ours the eternal song to raise--
Worthy the Lord alone!

3 As Head for us Thou sittest there,
Until Thy members too shall share
In all Thou dost receive:
Thy glory and Thy royal throne
Thy boundless love has made our own,
Who in Thy name believe.

4 We triumph in Thy triumphs, Lord;
Thy joys our deepest joys afford,
The fruit of love divine.
While sorrow'ng, suff'ring, toiling here,
How does the thought our spirits cheer,
The throne of glory's Thine.