Hymns Of The Russian Church

8,8,8,8

Strew palms, strew palms upon the way,

With loud hosannas fill the air,

And greet thy King Who comes to-day,

To wear a crown, O Zion fair.

He mounts a throne with purple spread,

That issues from His wounded side,

And prickly thorns encrown His head,

In mockery of His kingly pride.

O people, blinded are your eyes,

The Gift of God you have not known;

And now the hope of ages dies,

And lo, the guilt is all your own.

Strew palms, strew palms, He comes again,

A King to reign, and not to die;

Hosannas shout in loud refrain,

To rise re-echoing to the sky.

But, not enough, before Him fall,

His kingly grace repenting claim;

And He shall hear your humble call,

Above the shouting and acclaim.

Strew palms, strew palms! O Christ our King,

To Thee our fealty now we give,

And all the grateful homage bring

Of lives that for Thy service live.