The queen in gold of Ophir

At Thy right hand doth stand;

King's daughters are the women

Who fill Thy honored band.

The church in all her glory

Shall match her glorious King,

And all the saints, the women,

Thy likeness there shall bring.

O daughter, now consider,

E'en now incline thine ear:

Remember not thy people

And all thine own things here.

Thy beauty then shall blossom —

'Twill be the King's desire;

For He thy worthy Lord is,

Thy worship to inspire.

The daughter's glorious garments

Are made of inwrought gold —

Within the inner palace,

How wondrous to behold!

The glory of God's nature

Is given her to wear,

That all His holy being

She may in life declare.

In clothing too embroidered

She'll to the King be led,

In that fine linen garment

To be exhibited.

'Tis by the Spirit's stitching

That Christ in us is wrought,

And with this glorious garment

We'll to the King be brought.

What gladness and rejoicing

When we the King shall see!

We'll shout His worthy praises

Through all eternity.

And though the King we worship

Or glory in the Queen,

In all this blest enjoyment

The glory goes to Him.