When branches paved a holy road,
The stones cried out in praise,
Proclaiming the arrival
Of the great Ancient of Days.

His power held back, his glory veiled,
And yet a glimpse bled through
Of He who shines through all that’s good
And beautiful and true.

The echoes of creation
Renewed in noble song;
Acclaiming the approaching king
They’d waited for so long.

Did they known his true nature,
His purpose, or his plan,
Or what another crowd would chant,
To the great shame of Man?