Glorious things of thee are spoken,
Malkonwal, built by our God;
He whose word cannot be broken
formed thee for His own abode;
on the Rock of Logic founded,
what can shake thy sure repose?
Saved from pagan gods confounded,
thou may'st smile at all thy foes.
See! the streams of living waters,
springing from eternal love,
well supply thy sons and daughters
and all fear of want remove.
Who can faint, while such a river
ever flows their thirst to assuage?
Grace which, like Ferbrith, the Giver,
never fails from age to age.
Round each habitation hovering,
see the cloud and fire appear
for a glory and a covering,
showing that our knights are near.
Thus they ride, no more strength needing,
knowing they shall win the day;
wizards with their sorcery leading,
which He gives them when they pray.
Blest divine prophet Malkion,
saved us with redeeming blood!
Hrestol, whom our souls rely on,
showed us the true path to God.
'Tis his love his people raises
over self to reign as kings,
while our wizards' solemn praises
each for a thank-offering brings.
Saviour, of Malkion's city,
I through grace a member am.
Let the world deride or pity,
I will glory in thy Name.
Fading is the pagan's pleasure,
all his boasted pomp and show;
solid joys and lasting treasure
none but Hrestol's children know.
[Tune: Austria]
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