From Olivet's sequestered seats

1 From Ol­iv­et’s se­ques­tered seats,
What sounds of trans­port spread?
What con­course moves thro’ Sa­lem’s streets,
To Si­on’s ho­ly head?
Behold Him there in low­li­est guise,
The Sav­ior of man­kind!
Triumphal shouts be­fore Him rise,
And shouts re­ply behind:
And, "Strike" they cry," your loud­est string:
He comes—Ho­san­na to our king!"

2 Nor these alone, that pre­sent train,
Their pre­sent king ad­ored;
An ear­li­er and a lat­er strain
Extol the self-same Lord.
Obedient to His Fa­ther’s will,
He came—He lived, He died;
Congratulating voic­es still
Before and af­ter cried,
"All hail the Prince of Da­vid’s line!
Hosanna to the Man di­vine!"

3 He came to earth: from eld­est years,
A long and bright ar­ray
Of prop­het bards and pa­tri­arch seers
Proclaimed the glo­ri­ous day:
The light of Heav’n in ev­ery breast,
Its fire on ev­ery lip,
In tune­ful chor­us on they pressed,
A good­ly fel­low­ship:
And still their peal­ing an­them ran,
"Hosanna to the Son of Man!"

4 He came to earth, thro’ life He passed
A man of griefs; and lo,
A noble ar­my fol­low­ing fast
His track of pain and woe:
All decked with palms, and strange­ly bright,
That suf­fering host ap­pears;
And stain­less are their robes of white,
Tho’ steeped in blood and tears!
And sweet their mar­tyr an­them flows,
"Hosanna to the Man of woes!"

5 From ag­es past des­cends the lay
To ag­es yet to be,
Till far its ec­hoes roll away
Into eter­ni­ty.
But oh! while saints and an­gels high
Thy fi­nal tri­umph share,
Amidst Thy fol­low­ers, Lord, shall I
Tho’ last and mean­est there,
Receive a place, and fee­bly raise
A faint ho­san­na to Thy praise?


Source: The Cyber Hymnal #16322

• MIDI file from The Cyber Hymnal #16322