The majesty of Solomon,

How glorious to behold!

The servants waiting round his throne,

The ivory and the gold!

But, mighty God! thy palace shines

With far superior beams;

Thine angel guards are swift as winds,

Thy ministers are flames.

[Soon as thine only Son had made

His entrance on this earth,

A shining army downward fled

To celebrate his birth.

And when, oppressed with pains and fears,

On the cold ground he lies,

Behold, a heav'nly form appears

T' allay his agonies.]

Now to the hands of Christ our King

Are all their legions giv'n;

They wait upon his saints, and bring

His chosen heirs to heav'n.

Pleasure and praise run through their host,

To see a sinner turn;

Then Satan has a captive lost,

And Christ a subject born.

But there's an hour of brighter joy,

When he his angels sends

Obstinate rebels to destroy,

And gather in his friends.

O! could I say, without a doubt,

There shall my soul be found,

Then let the great archangel shout,

And the last trumpet sound.