Hail to the King, who comes in weakness now,
No wreath of gold encircleth His brow,
Lowly His state - in lowly worship bow;
Hail to the King!
Born of His maiden mother, pure as snow,
Son of our God, begotten long ago,
Ere yet the steam of time began to flow;
Hail to the King!
Nowhere was found a shelter for His head,
Humble He lay, e'en where the oxen fed,
No couch nor crib, a manger was his bed;
Hail to the King!
Herdsmen were there who heard the angels sing;
Wise men from far who myrrh and incense bring,
No other hand bestowed an offering;
Hail to the King!
Hail to the King! O Christ, upon Thy throne,
Look on the souls which Thou didst make Thine own,
When by Thy birth and d**h Thou didst atone;
Hail to the King!