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- Crown him with many crowns,
The Lamb upon his throne;
Hark, how the heavenly anthem drowns.
All music but its own;
Awake, my soul, and sing
Of him who died for thee,
And hail him as thy matchless King,
Through all eternity.
- Crown him the Virgin’s Son,
The God incarnate born,
Whose arm those crimson trophies won,
Which now his brow adorn;
Fruit of the mystic rose,
As of that rose the stem;
The root, whence mercy ever flows,
The Babe of Bethlehem.
- Crown him the Lord of love:
Behold his hands and side,
Rich wounds yet visible above
In beauty glorified:
No angel in the sky
Can fully bear that sight,
But downward bends his burning eye
At mysteries so bright.