Psalm 45 (Version 4, Part 2)

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 heavenly dress,

Her robe of joy and righteousness.

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 favourite of his choice;

Let him be lov'd and yet ador'd,

For he's thy Maker and thy Lord.

O happy hour, when thou shalt rise

To his fair palace in the skies,

And all thy Sons (a numerous train)

Each like a prince in glory reign!

Let endless honours crown his head;

Let every age his praises spread;

While we with cheerful songs approve

The condescensions of his love.