1 Palms of glory, raiment bright,
Crowns that never fade away,
Gird and deck the saints in light;
Priests, and kings, and conquerors, they.

2 Yet the conquerors bring their palms
To the Lamb amid the throne;
And proclaim, the joyful psalms,
Victory through His cross alone.

3 Kings for harps their crowns resign,
Crying as they strike the chords--
"Take the kingdom; it is thine,
King of kings, and Lord of lords."

4 Round the altar priests confess,
If their robes are white as snow,
'Twas their Saviour's righteousness,
And His blood, that made them so.

5 Who are these? On earth they dwelt,
Sinners once of Adam's race
Guilt, and fear, and suffering felt,
But were saved by sovereign grace.

6 They were mortal, too, like us;
Ah! when we, like them, shall die,
May our souls, translated thus,
Triumph, reign, and shine, on high!