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Coronwyd, do, Iachawdwr byd



Thorns had the Saviour of mankind

His only Crown while here below:

Could Earth no other garland find

With which to deck his holy brow?

Was he a King? yea; to his throne

Heaven, Earth, and Hell allegiance owe;

Nor glory his, nor power alone,—

What heart such depths of grief can know?

Should Earth, dear Lord, crown me with thorns,

Give strength to glory in the shame;

To feel that every thing adorns

My brow, if Jesus wore the same.

I now behold Him on a seat

Of majesty o’er angels raised;

The crowns of heaven laid at his feet,

His Holy Name by myriads praised.

And, Lord, among the crowns which heaven

Adoring, at thy footstool lays,

By contrite Earth may soon be given

A chaplet—not of shame, but praise.

For Thou hast crownèd her with flowers,

And, more than all, with saving love:

What debt so great can be as hers;

What diadem may worthy prove?

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