Who Is This King Of Glory? Poem by Isadora Quagmire

Who may ascend to Zion's holy height?
And who shall stand within His sacred light?
Not one who boasts in self-wrought, earthly might,


But he whose hands, by grace, are washed anew,
Whose heart, by Spirit's work, is pure and true,
Whose soul from idols of the world withdrew.


For such a one, true blessing shall descend,
And righteousness, which God Himself does send;
Imputed grace, from God, His saving hand.


These are the ones, a chosen, seeking race,
Who, by His call, would gaze upon His face,
The God of Jacob, found by sovereign grace.


Lift up your heads, O gates, fling wide and far!
Ye ancient doors, cast off each binding bar!
Let Christ, the King of Glory, swiftly come!


Who is this King, whose triumph none can shun?
The Lord, in might, whose battles all are won,
The Lord, victorious, God's eternal Son!


Lift up your heads, O gates, swing open wide!
Ye ancient doors, no longer ought you hide!
Let Christ, the King of Glory, now preside!