Behold, the King of Zion Rides

Behold

the King of Zi­on rides

But not in vain ar­ray;

The peo­ple wave their good­ly palms

With gar­ments strew the way;

And loud ho­san­nas fill the air

From crowds that

surg­ing

throng;

’Tis meet to hon­or Him who rides

With cheer

and shout

and song.

O Zi­on

of your God be­loved

The day of strife is nigh

Yet comes He not with ar­mor clad

And sword up­on His thigh;

The wea­pons of your migh­ty king

No oth­er hand could wield;

The might of God is in His arm

The will of God His shield.

See

on the cross

with­out the wall

The King im­mor­tal dies;

Not now ho­san­nas fill the air—

The shouts of hell arise;

But in that hour of tri­umph

deemed

Satanic might is slain

For He who bows the head in death

Shall rise to life again.

O Zion

hail your migh­ty king

Your palms around Him ave

And strew your gar­ments in the way

Of Him who rides to save;

And when He mounts His re­gal throne

By bloody con­flict won

Give hom­age to the King of Heav­en

God’s one eter­nal Son.