The Prince ascended to His throne,
A crown adorned His brow:
But His subjects would not honor Him;
At His feet they would not bow.
His crown was fashioned not of gold,
No glittering jewels rare;
But piercing thorns released the Blood,
Great wealth beyond compare.
A septre in each hand He held,
Two rods of iron were they;
And from His hands was power revealed,
As blood flowed forth that day.
Though far removed from Calvary’s brow,
His hands are stretched out still:
Men yet may come, the call remains,
To whosoever will.
As King of Kings He’ll come again,
Ascending to His throne:
With rod of iron He’ll rule and reign,
And every knee shall bow.
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