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.