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.