1 The King of saints, how fair his Face,
Adorn'd with Majesty and Grace!
He comes with Blessings from above,
And wins the Nations to his Love.

2 At his Right-hand our Eyes behold
The Queen array'd in purest Gold;
The World admires her heav'nly Dress,
Her Robe of Joy and Righteousness.

3 He forms her Beauties like his own;
He calls and seats her near his Throne;
Fair Stranger, let thine Heart forget
The Idols of thy native State.

4 So shall the King the more rejoice
In thee the Fav'rite of his Choice;
Let him be lov'd, and yet ador'd,
For he's thy Maker and thy Lord.

5 O happy Hour, when thou shalt rise
To his fair Palace in the Skies,
And all thy Sons (a num'rous Train)
Each like a Prince in Glory reign!

6 Let endless Honours crown his Head;
Let ev'ry Age his Praises spread;
While we with chearful Songs approve
The Condescensions of his Love.