To play the media you will need to either update your browser to a recent version or update your Flash plugin.
Welcome to Hyperion Records, an independent British classical label devoted to presenting high-quality recordings of music of all styles and from all periods from the twelfth century to the twenty-first.
Hyperion offers both CDs, and downloads in a number of formats. The site is also available in several languages.
Please use the dropdown buttons to set your preferred options, or use the checkbox to accept the defaults.
To experience the full apotheosis of this hymn it needs to be taken beyond even the glories of a cathedral choir and organ and heard in a Salvation Army citadel in their fine arrangement for band, choir and congregation that turns it into a small cantata. For Matthew Bridges’ words provide us with a hymn of exaltation, a lifting-up of all we have to praise Christ, now exalted into heaven, but still the incarnate and crucified Jesus. Elvey served for most of his career as organist of St George’s Chapel in Windsor Castle (1835–1882). His only other popular tune is ‘St George’s Windsor’ which is widely sung to the harvest hymn ‘Come, ye thankful people, come’. He was a somewhat old-fashioned musician, and his tunes are not part of that romantic movement that was so prevalent at the time. Like so many tunes in this collection this one was contributed to the 1868 Appendix to Hymns Ancient and Modern. The name ‘Diademata’ means in Greek ‘crowns’.
Crown him with many crowns,
The Lamb upon his throne;
Hark, how the heavenly anthem drowns
All music but its own.
Awake, my soul, and sing
Of him who died for thee,
And hail him as thy matchless King
Through all eternity.
Crown him the Virgin’s Son,
The God incarnate born,
Whose arm those crimson trophies won
Which now his brow adorn;
Fruit of the mystic Rose,
As of that Rose the stem,
The root, whence mercy ever flows,
The Babe of Bethlehem.
Crown him the Lord of love;
Behold his hands and side,
Those wounds, yet visible above,
In beauty glorified:
No angel in the sky
Can fully bear that sight,
But downward bends his burning eye
At mysteries so bright.
Crown him the Lord of peace,
Whose power a sceptre sways
From pole to pole, that wars may cease,
And all be prayer and praise.
His reign shall know no end,
And round his piercèd feet
Fair flowers of paradise extend
Their fragrance ever sweet.
Crown him the Lord of years,
The Potentate of time,
Creator of the rolling spheres,
All hail, Redeemer, hail!
For thou hast died for me;
Thy praise shall never, never fail