HE comes, a King! what splendors gird him round, Jewel and sceptre and the circled gold! What hosts, what princes of the realms of old,— The chafing squadron and the clanging sound! A King! Not such his advent! To the ground Cast palms and garments, and hosannas sing; This is the Lord of Heaven! Creation's King! Yet pomp nor state his earthly throne surround; His throng the poor and humble, sons of shame, Who crowd his steps and on his message wait; A beggar's beast His seat to Zion's gate, And these His triumphs and His might proclaim; No worldly kingdom thine, or homage vain, Throned in the heart alone, O Lord, thy sovereign reign! |