THE King is coming! All the road
With branches of the palm is strewed;
The multitudes are thronging fast
To see him as he rideth past.
They look for pomp and sovereignty,
Purple and gold and crown to see,
They bring the sick, the halt, the dumb.
The King is coming! Let him come.
The Christ is coming! Coarsely dressed
With sandalled feet and fisher’s vest,
His steed the lowly ass’s foal,
His crown the viewless aureole;
No sword, no seal, no royal cloak;
Twelve tired and dusty working folk
Make of his court the tale and sum.
The Christ is coming! Let him come.
The King is coming! Every year
He comes for hearts that hold him dear,
Borne in as on that by-gone day
With palm-boughs strewed along his way,
No longer clad in lowly guise,
But King of Kings to faithful eyes.
To every heart that gives him room
The Lord of Love vouchsafes to come.
The Christ is coming! Heart of mine,
What fitting gift, of love the sign,
Hast thou to lay as offering
Upon the pathway of the King?
No palm-branch hast thou? Nothing meet?
Then lay thyself before his feet.
His smile can make thy dryness bloom.
The Christ is coming! Let him come!