1 Hail to the Lord Who comes
Comes to His temple gate;
Not with His angel host
Not in His kingly state;
No shouts proclaim Him nigh
No crowds His coming wait.

2 But, borne upon the throne
Of Mary's gentle breast,
Watch'd by her duteous love:
In her fond arms at rest:
No shouts proclaim Him nigh
No crowds His coming wait.

3 Hail to the great First-born
Whose ransom price they pay!
The Son, before all worlds;
The Child of man, to-day;
That He might ransom us
Who still in bondage lay.

4 O Light of all the earth,
Thy children wait for Thee!
Come to Thy temples here,
That we, from sin set free,
Before Thy Father's face
May all presented be!