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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