Angels ministering to Christ and the saints.
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.