Sprang the lightning from God's great hand.
Then crashing in almighty splendour
A thousand angels, a holy band.
Sang God's hosts an awful chorus,
Joined by rows of cherubim;
The king is coming, riding for us
In his hand a flaming brand.
Clad in stars and ringed by Saturn
There He stands, aloof, on high
Causing all the world to know him
The one who lives, the one who died.