The Lamb upon his throne; Hark! how the heavenly 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 Virgin's Son! The God Incarnate born,-- Whose arm those crimson trophies won Which now his brow adorn! Fruit of the mystic Rose As of that Rose the Stem: The Root, whence mercy ever flows,-- The Babe of Bethlehem! Crown him the Lord of love! Behold his hands and side,-- Rich wounds, yet visible above, In beauty glorified: No angel in the sky Can fully bear that sight, But downward bends his burning eye At mysteries so bright! Crown him the Lord of peace! Whose power a scepter sways, From pole to pole,--that wars may cease, Absorbed in prayer and praise: his reign shall know no end, And round his pierced feet Fair flowers of paradise extend Their fragrance ever sweet. Crown him the Lord of years! The Potentate of time,-- Creator of the rolling