Sion, haste to meet thy king,
Psalms and glad ho­san­nas sing,
Strew thy palms, thy gar­ments spread,
For the Judge of quick and dead!

Meek, He rides up­on the colt;
God, who wields the thun­der­bolt,
Lays His roy­al glo­ry by
In our flesh for man to die.

Enter now the tem­ple gate,
Where He stands in prince­ly state;
Join the child­ren’s song of praise
To the King of end­less days.

For the Lord who comes with grace,
Soon shall show His shin­ing face;
Christ, who for our sins atoned,
Comes ’mid an­gel hosts en­throned.

Heav’ns shall van­ish like a scroll,
Sun and moons in dark­ness roll,
When the dead the trum­pet hear,
When the judg­ment books ap­pear.

On that day of doom and grace,
Grant us with Thy saints a place,
Save us from the realms of night,
Clothe us with eter­nal light.