The Crowned Son

The King of Kings will break the sky,
on white steed He’ll descend;
With Him the Bride of Christ, blood-sealed,
the ransomed born again.

No whispered trumpet veiled in cloud,
no secret flight above—
but heaven split by righteous fire
and blazing covenant love.

The nations gathered in their might,
with iron, pride, and flame,
will find their banners fall like dust
before His holy Name.

Jerusalem will lift her eyes
through smoke and battle cry,
And see the once pierced now before her,
robed in majestic light.

Not Lamb led silent to the grave,
not mocked, nor crowned with thorn—
but Lion crowned with many crowns,
the Father’s only begotten, Born.

The Mount will tremble at His step,
the valleys cleave in two;
creation bends beneath the weight
of promises long true.

We do not come with earned renown,
nor trophies from a war,
but clothed in white His mercy wove
before the world was formed.

No battle stretched through weary hours,
no clash of equal might—
the brightness of His coming breaks
the arrogance of night.

Then He sets His feet upon the earth,
time surrenders to His reign;
and every knee will bow beneath
the mention of His name.