Christ and His Church.

THE King of saints, how fair his face, Adorn'd with majesty and grace! He comes with blessings from above, And wins the nations to his love.

At his right hand our eyes behold The queen array'd in purest gold; The world admires her heav'nly dress, Her robe of joy and right'ousness.

He forms her beauties like his own; He calls and seats her near his throne: Fair stranger let thine heart forget The idols of thy native state.

So shall the King the more rejoice In thee, the favorite of his choice; Let him be lov'd and yet ador'd, For he's thy Maker and thy Lord.

Oh happy hour, when thou shalt rise To his fair palace in the skies, And thy Sons (a num'rous train) Each like a prince in glory reign!