Palms of glory, raiment bright,
Crowns that never fade away,
Gird and deck the saints in light,
Priests and kings and conqu’rors they.

Yet the conqu'rors bring their palms
To the Lamb amidst the Throne,
And proclaim in joyful psalms
Vict’ry through His Cross alone.

Kings their crowns for harps resign,
Crying, as they strike the chords,
Take the Kingdom, it is Thine,
King of kings, and Lord of lords.

Round the Altar Priests confess,
if their robes are white as snow,
T’was the Saviour's Righteousness,
And His Blood, that made them so.

They were mortal too like us,
O, when we like them must die,
May our souls translated thus
Triumph, reign, and shine on high.