Angels ministering to Christ and the saints.

The majesty of Solomon,

How glorious to behold!

The servants waiting round his throne,

The ivory and the gold!

But, mighty God! thy palace shines

With far superior beams;

Thine angel guards are swift as winds,

Thy ministers are flames.

[Soon as thine only Son had made

His entrance on this earth,

A shining army downward fled

To celebrate his birth.

And when, oppressed with pains and fears,

On the cold ground he lies,

Behold, a heav'nly form appears

T' allay his agonies.]

Now to the hands of Christ our King

Are all their legions giv'n;

They wait upon his saints, and bring

His chosen heirs to heav'n.

Pleasure and praise run through their host,

To see a sinner turn;

Then Satan has a captive lost,

And Christ a subject born.

But there's an hour of brighter joy,

When he his angels sends

Obstinate rebels to destroy,

And gather in his friends.

O! could I say, without a doubt,

There shall my soul be found,

Then let the great archangel shout,

And the last trumpet sound.