Palms of glory, raiment bright,

Crowns that never fade away,

Gird and deck the saints in light;

Priest, and kings, and conquerors they.

2 Yet the conquerors bring their palms

To the Lamb amidst the throne,

And proclaim in 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 saints confess,

If their robes are white as snow,

’Twas the Saviour’s wondrous grace,

And his blood, that made them so.

5 Who were 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, must die,

May our souls, translated thus,

Triumph, reign and shine on high!