10,10,10,5 oi magoi ta d?ra prospherousin Hail to the King, who comes in weakness now, No wreath of gold encircleth His brow, Lowly His state -- in lowly worship bow; Hail to the King! Born of His maiden mother, pure as snow, Son of our God, begotten long ago, Ere yet the stream of time began to flow; Hail to the King! Nowhere was found a shelter for His head, Humble He lay, e'en where the oxen fed, No couch nor crib, a manger was His bed; Hail to the King! Herdsmen were there who heard the angels sing; Wise men from far who myrrh and incense bring, No other hand bestowed an offering; Hail to the King! Hail to the King! O Christ, upon Thy throne, Look on the souls which Thou didst make Thine own, When by Thy birth and death Thou didst atone; Hail to the King! |
    |