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PALM SUNDAY.
“And many spread their garments in the way; and others cut down
branches off the trees, and strewed them in the way. And they that went
before, and they that followed, cried, saying, Hosanna; Blessed is He that
cometh in the Name of the Lord: Hosanna in the highest.”
—St. Mark xi. 8–10.
Behold our King in meek array
Comes riding on His prosperous way,
His lips distilling truth and grace,
And pity sitting on His face:
His willing people own the power
That breathes o'er His triumphant hour,
And heavenward drawn by cords of love
In jubilant procession move.
Comes riding on His prosperous way,
His lips distilling truth and grace,
And pity sitting on His face:
His willing people own the power
That breathes o'er His triumphant hour,
And heavenward drawn by cords of love
In jubilant procession move.
As He rides on His people bring
Their offerings to the Saviour King;
Beneath His feet their garments lay,
And scatter branches in the way:
With praises and hosannas loud
Around Him men and children crowd,
And thus the Lord is borne along
As on a heaving sea of song.
Their offerings to the Saviour King;
Beneath His feet their garments lay,
And scatter branches in the way:
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Around Him men and children crowd,
And thus the Lord is borne along
As on a heaving sea of song.
Lord, as Thou passest by this way
My ready tribute I would pay:
The deep-dyed sins which wrap me round
I cast before Thee on the ground,
And like a crimson garment spread,
On which Thy conquering feet may tread;
Knowing for raiment vile of mine
Thou wilt bestow a robe divine.
My ready tribute I would pay:
The deep-dyed sins which wrap me round
I cast before Thee on the ground,
And like a crimson garment spread,
On which Thy conquering feet may tread;
Knowing for raiment vile of mine
Thou wilt bestow a robe divine.
And Lord, before Thee I would strew
Green branches wet with early dew—
The palm, the olive, and the vine,
A garland sweet for Thee entwine—
All holy aspirations high,
All duties aiming at the sky,
The unction of prevailing prayer,
And praise's cheering clusters rare.
Green branches wet with early dew—
The palm, the olive, and the vine,
A garland sweet for Thee entwine—
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All duties aiming at the sky,
The unction of prevailing prayer,
And praise's cheering clusters rare.
And let me join the marching crowd
That gird Thee with rejoicings loud,
Bringing some loved ones in my train
To wave their boughs and add their strain—
Fair olive-branches clinging near
In dew of youth, an offering dear:
Thus as of old shall children raise
Glad hand and voice to swell Thy praise.
That gird Thee with rejoicings loud,
Bringing some loved ones in my train
To wave their boughs and add their strain—
Fair olive-branches clinging near
In dew of youth, an offering dear:
Thus as of old shall children raise
Glad hand and voice to swell Thy praise.
For, Lord, if we should hold our peace,
Earth's adoration would not cease,
The very stones would cry to Thee,
And music flow from every tree.
So never shall our lips be dumb
Till to Thy Temple, Lord, we come,
And mingle with the blissful throng
Who raise to Thee the eternal song!
Earth's adoration would not cease,
The very stones would cry to Thee,
And music flow from every tree.
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Till to Thy Temple, Lord, we come,
And mingle with the blissful throng
Who raise to Thee the eternal song!
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