“The First-born”

  Bow the knee! ’tis the high decree of Almighty God.
  Bow the knee! send the fiat free from the heavens abroad.

  Lord alone, on the Father’s throne, over all things Head!
  Hell, amazed, saw the Victor raised from among the dead.

  Seraphim bow down to Him and Lord Him call.
  His is the throne, let the wide world own Him Lord of all!

  Jesus! Son! with the Father one! God’s Fellow Thou!
  Glorified, to battle ride—creation bow!

  Lord of the throng of angels strong, God’s armies dread!
  Victorious Lord, with flaming sword, and garments red!

  Once disowned, but now enthroned, for power and might,
  God has sworn, tho’ the nations scorn, are His by right

  Gird Thy sword on Thy thigh, O Lord, ride prosperously,
  Thro’ rebel hearts Thy fiery darts shall cleave their way.

  Most High God! of the earth He trod, Creator He!
  Subjects, kings, infernal things, bow low the knee!

  His brightness fills the heavens, and thrills the trumpet dread.
  The ransomed hear the music clear, living and dead.

  His glorious bride, see, by His side! Most dazzling fair!
  Robed in white, than the sun more bright, His throne to share.

  Praise resounds! remotest bounds take up the strain.
  Rejoice! rejoice! lift up the voice! the Christ doth reign!

  All nations sing, the heavens ring, be His name adored,
  The chorus thrills, from the lasting hills—PRAISE YE THE LORD.