Upon the olive-scented slope,
where prophets dreamed and angels trod,
the long-awaited King drew near—
upon a donkey’s colt He trod.

The whole vast crowd of disciples rose,
their hearts aflame with holy fire;
for every miracle they’d seen,
they lifted voices ever higher.

“Blessed is the King who comes,” they sang,
“in the name of the Lord Most High!”
The ancient psalm now burst to life
beneath the bright Jerusalem sky.

“Peace in heaven!” the chorus rang,
“and glory in the highest!” cried;
the very stones, if silenced,
would have shouted back in reply.

Palm branches waved like banners green,
cloaks of many colors paved the road;
Hosanna! Save us, David’s Son—
the promised King, the Lamb of God.

Yet in His eyes a quiet grief,
as tears fell softly on the hill;
He saw the city’s coming doom,
the blood that soon their hands would spill.

Not with a sword or chariot throne,
but nailed upon a cruel tree,
He rode that humble donkey’s colt
to win our peace and set us free.

Still heaven’s song rang loud and clear,
echoing down through time and space:
The King has come! The Savior rides!
Behold the fullness of God’s grace.

Hosanna in the highest now,
let every tongue and nation sing;
for Christ the Lord has entered in—
the Promised King, the Risen King.