1 The majesty of Solomon! How glorious to behold The servants waiting round his throne, The ivory and the gold.
2 But, mighty God, thy palace shines With far superior beams; Thine angel-guards are swift as winds, Thy ministers are flames.
3 [Soon as thine only Son had made His entrance on this earth, A shining army downward fled To celebrate his birth.
4 And when oppress'd with pains and fears On the cold ground he lies, Behold a heavenly form appears T' allay his agonies.]
5 Now to the hands of Christ our King Are all their legions given; They wait upon his saints, and bring His chosen heirs to heaven.
6 Pleasure and praise run thro' their host To see a sinner turn; Then Satan has a captive lost, And Christ a subject born.
7 But there's an hour of brighter joy, When he his angels sends Obstinate rebels to destroy, And gather in his friends.
8 O! could I say, without a doubt, There shall my soul be found, Then let the great archangel shout, And the last trumpet sound.