The earth is the Lord’s and the fullness thereof,
Prepared upon the great floods,
And who shall ascend to His holy mount,
And stand in His holy place?
Lift up your gates, o princes fair,
Be lifted up ye mighty doors,
The King of glory shall enter.
Who is the King of glory?
And palms were cut and laid before,
And cloaks upon the road were strewn,
And olive branches borne aloft,
King borne on ass’s colt to greet
The Lord, strong and mighty,
The Lord mighty in battle.
Lift up your gates, o princes fair,
Be lifted up ye mighty doors,
The King of glory shall enter.
Who is the King of glory?
The children of the Hebrews cry,
“Hosanna in the highest,
Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord!”
The Lord of Hosts,
He is the King of glory.
Jerusalem, Jerusalem,
Who killest the prophets,
Stonest the saints,
How often would He have gathered thee,
As a hen her brood beneath her wings?
Let rise the sun but five times thence,
(Once for each wound ope'd in His Flesh)
And on those lips the very same,
Where days before “Hosanna’s” had
But hardly died, a new cry rings
And sterner to the ear it seems:
“Crucify Him, crucify Him, crucify Him!”
O fickle man, who seeing Truth,
Embraced Him while the cost was light,
But spurred by envy, blind with pride,
Didst send Him to be put to death,
What more could He have done?
O soul of mine, who seeing Truth,
Perceiving Love giv’n without thought
For self, rejoices at its sound,
Its feeling mayhap, or its sweetness
But in the test remain’st content
In hearing, and when comes the pinch
Thou falt’ring, bring’st instead the nails,
The scourages, and the lance thyself!
How look’st thou down on Pilate’s scorn,
When scorn and pride have filled thy ways?
On Judas’ kiss, on Peter’s oath,
How canst thou bear to meditate
And think securely that thou wouldst
Not fall as low as they had gone,
Or that of thyself thou'dst seek forgiveness,
Yielding not to black despair
From all thy sins heaped up?
O fickle heart cry not Hosanna,
Only thence to hand Him o’er,
Fly to the bosom of His Mother,
She will keep thy ways secure.
Beneath her mantle did beloved
John endure, and Magdalene.
Fly now my soul to seek her comfort,
And her wisdom in all trials,
And her love, borne from her Son,
Who suffered there on Calvary,
King of glory, nailed to the Tree.