Crown Him with many crowns,
The Lamb upon His throne;
Hark! how the heav’nly anthem drowns
All music but its own:
Awake, my soul, and sing
Of Him who died for thee,
And hail Him as thy matchless King
Through all eternity.
Crown Him the Son of God,
before the worlds began,
And ye who tread where He hath trod,
Crown Him the Son of Man;
Who ev’ry grief hath known
That wrings the human breast,
And takes and bears them for His own,
that all in Him may rest.
Crown Him the Lord of love,
behold His hands and side,
Those wounds, yet visible above,
in beauty glorified.
No angel in the sky
Can fully bear that sight,
But downward bends his wond’ring eye
At mysteries so bright.
Crown Him the Lord of life,
who triumphed o’er the grave,
And rose victorious in the strife
For those He came to save;
His glories now we sing,
Who died, and rose on high,
Who died eternal life to bring,
And lives that death may die.
Crown Him the Lord of lords,
who over all doth reign,
Who once on earth, th’incarnate Word,
For ransomed sinners slain,
Now lives in realms of light,
where saints with angels sing
Their songs before Him day and night,
their God, Redeemer, King.