O Christ, our King, Creator, Lord,
Saviour of all who trust thy Word,
To them who seek thee ever near,
Now to our praises bend thine ear.
In thy dear cross a grace is found—
It flows from every streaming wound—
Whose pow'r our inbred sin controls,
Breaks the firm bond, and frees our souls.
Thou didst create the stars of night;
Yet thou hast veiled in flesh thy light,
Hast deigned a mortal form to wear,
A mortal's painful lot to bear.
When thou didst hang upon the tree,
The quaking earth acknowledged thee;
When thou didst here yield up thy breath,
The world grew dark as shades of death.
Now in the Father's glory high,
Great Conqueror, nevermore to die,
Us by thy mighty pow'r defend,
And reign through ages without end.