These are the jewels all glorious that shine

High in the crown of the Monarch divine;

Circling the brow like a rainbow of light,

Brighter than stars in an Orient night.

They who have dwelt in the darkness below,

Cheering its sadness, and healing its woe;

Seeking the wanderers and pointing the way

Out of the night to the glories of day.

They who had ears for the penitent's plaint,

Stretching their hands to the weak and the faint;

Aiding the weary who toil for their bread,

Wiping the tears that in sorrow are shed.

Holding as gain what the world deems but loss;

Bearing with meekness the weight of the Cross;

Counting it glory to suffer the shame

Linked to the servant who honours His name.

Cherubim, seraphim, glowing and bright,

Stand in the Holy place girded with light;

Ah, but the jewels more glorious that shine,

Flash from the crown of the Monarch divine.