Behold, the Lord to Zi­on rides,
And crowds ho­san­nas sing;
They spread their gar­ments in the way,
And hail Him as a king.

O Zi­on, blind with earth­ly pride,
Why couldst thou not be­hold
The Christ of God, whom sage and seer
From age to age fore­told?

A king in­deed, but not to reign
By pow­er of earth­ly might;
The glo­ry of whose roy­al state
Is hid from car­nal sight.

Whose sub­jects are the souls of men
From thrall of dark­ness won;
Whose king­dom knows no bounds, with­in
The dawn and set­ting sun.

Behold thy king to Zi­on rides
Where He the cross shall bear;
And on that throne with blood be­decked,
His robe of pur­ple wear;

Where slaves to sin His love shall view,
And from their bond­age rise
To no­ble feal­ty, by the pow­er
Of lov­ing sac­ri­fice.