THE ENTRY INTO JERUSALEM.
I
The air is fill'd with shouts, and trumpets' sounding;
A host are at thy gates, Jerusalem.
Now is their van the Mount of Olives rounding;
Above them Judah's lion-banners gleam,
Twined with the palm and olives' peaceful stem.
Now swell the nearer sounds of voice and string,
As down the hill-side pours the living stream;
And to the cloudless heaven Hosannas ring—
“The Son of David comes!—the Conqueror—the King!”
II
The cuirass'd Roman heard; and grasp'd his shield,
And rushed in fiery haste to gate and tower;
The Pontiff from his battlement beheld
The host, and knew the falling of his power:
He saw the cloud on Sion's glory lour.
Still down the marble road the myriads come,
Spreading the way with garment, branch, and flower,
And deeper sounds are mingling, “woe to Rome!”
“The day of freedom dawns; rise, Israel, from thy tomb.”
III
Temple of beauty—long that day is done;
Thy ark is dust; thy golden cherubim
In the fierce triumphs of the foe are gone:
The shades of ages on thy altars swim.
Yet still a light is there, though wavering dim;
And has its holy lamp been watch'd in vain?
Or lives it not until the finish'd time,
When he who fix'd, shall break his people's chain,
And Sion be the loved, the crown'd of God again?
IV
He comes, yet with the burning bolt unarm'd;
Pale, pure, prophetic, God of Majesty!
Though thousands, tens of thousands, round him swarm'd,
None durst abide that depth divine of eye;
None durst the waving of his robe draw nigh.
But at his feet was laid the Roman's sword:
There Lazarus knelt to see his King pass by;
There Jairus, with his age's child, adored.
“He comes, the King of Kings: Hosanna to the Lord!”
