The Kingliest Kings

Ho! ye who in a noble work
Win scorn, as flames draw air,
And in the way where Lions lurk,
God's image bravely bear;
Tho' trouble-tried and torture-torn,
The kingliest Kings are crown'd with thorn.

Life's glory, like the bow in heaven,
Still springeth from the cloud;
Soul ne'er out-soar'd the starry Seven,
But Pain's fire-chariot rode.
They've battled best who've boldliest borne,
The kingliest Kings are crown'd with thorn.

The Martyr's fire-crown on the brow
Doth into glory burn;
And tears that from Love's torn heart flow,
To pearls of spirit turn. „
Our dearest hopes in pangs are born,
The kingliest Kings are crown'd with thorn.

As beauty in Death's cerement shrouds,
And Stars bejewel Night,
God-splendours live in dim heart-clouds,
And suffering worketh might.
The mirkest hour is mother o' Morn,
The kingliest Kings are crown'd with thorn.