Upon the Mount of Olives, rising high,
Where ancient olives whispered sacred lore,
The Master paused beneath the dawning sky
And sent two servants to a village door.

“Go find a donkey,” said His gentle voice,
“A colt that never yet has borne a load;
Untie and bring him hither, make your choice—
If any question, say ‘The Lord hath need.’”

They found the beast as prophecy foretold,
And led him forth with garments softly laid;
Then Jesus mounted, humble, meek, and bold,
Fulfilling Zechariah’s words displayed.

Now down the sloping path the procession wound,
Through Bethany’s green fields and scented air;
The multitudes, with eager joy unbound,
Cut palm branches and strewed them everywhere.

Some cast their cloaks upon the dusty way,
A carpet royal for the coming King;
While others climbed the trees in bright array
To wave green fronds and make the echoes ring.

“Hosanna to the Son of David!” cried
The throng that surged like ocean’s swelling tide;
“Blessed is He who in the Lord’s name rides!
Peace in the heavens, and glory far and wide!”

The Pharisees, with hearts of stone and pride,
Looked on in anger, murmuring with disdain:
“Master, rebuke Thy followers!” they sighed,
“Such noise disturbs the city’s calm domain.”

But Jesus answered with a solemn tone,
“If these should hold their peace, the stones would cry;
For this is He whom prophets long have known—
The King who comes, though not with banners high.”

The city gates swung open at His name,
Jerusalem awoke in wild acclaim;
Yet in His eyes a deeper sorrow came—
He wept for her, foreseeing future shame.

“O Jerusalem, that stonest those who call,
How oft I longed to gather thee as hen
Her brood beneath her wing, but thou wouldst fall
To ruin, for thou knewest not thy Friend.”

The Temple courts received the gentle Lord,
Where children sang “Hosanna!” loud and clear;
The priests and scribes in jealous rage were stirred,
But could not quench the praise that filled the air.

Thus rode the King, not on a charger proud,
Nor with a sword to claim an earthly throne,
But on a donkey, in meekness unavowed,
To conquer sin and claim the world His own.

The palms that waved in sunlight’s golden gleam
Would soon be trampled under careless feet;
The cries of “Hosanna!” fade into a dream,
Replaced by “Crucify!” on Friday’s street.

Yet in this hour of triumph, let us see
The pattern of redemption’s holy plan:
A King who serves, who bends the lowly knee,
Who rides to die—to rise and save all man.

O Christian soul, take up thy palm today,
Not with the fleeting joy that crowds display,
But with a steadfast heart that dares to pray
And follow Him along the narrow way.

Through Holy Week’s dark valley may we go,
Bearing the cross He bore for our release;
That when the final Easter dawn shall glow,
We rise with Him in everlasting peace.