From Hosanna to the Risen King
Hosanna rang through Zion’s gate,
As prophecy approached its date.
On foal of donkey, meek yet King,
The crowd laid palms before His way.
“Blessed is He!” the children cried,
Yet Calv’ry waited just outside.
He taught with truth the proud despised,
The blind saw light before their eyes.
In upper room, by lamplight dim,
He broke the bread and spoke of Him:
“My body given, bruised for you;
My blood, the covenant firm and true.”
In olive grove where shadows fell,
The Savior prayed with anguish deep.
Great drops like blood the ground did tell
The cost obedience chose to keep.
“Not as I will, but Yours be done,”
The path was set, the race begun.
Betrayed by kiss, denied by friend,
Condemned though guilt He could not claim.
They crowned His brow with twisted thorn,
And mocked the glory of His name.
Between the earth and heaven’s span,
They raised the cross of God and man.
Then mercy spoke where hatred stood:
“Father, forgive them,” cried the Son,
“They know not what they do,” He pled,
While crimson grace was still undone.
To dying thief with broken plea,
“Today in Paradise—with Me.”
His eyes beheld His mother’s pain,
And love still ordered earthly care:
“Woman, behold your son,” He said,
“Behold your mother,” soft yet fair.
Even as life began to flee,
His heart held human ministry.
The sun withdrew its borrowed light,
The land was wrapped in judgment’s shroud.
The spotless Lamb bore sin’s full weight
And cried in anguish, strong and loud:
“My God, My God, why have You gone?”
The cup of wrath He drank alone.
The Scripture pressed its final word,
The Living Well His thirst confessed:
“I thirst,” the Maker of the seas
Declared creation’s deep distress.
The work complete, the debt erased,
The Law fulfilled, the ransom paid,
He cried aloud in victory’s tone:
“It is finished!”—death dismayed.
Then gently bowing wounded head,
In perfect trust His breath He gave:
“Father, into Your hands I commit My spirit,”
And entered death—the conquered grave.
The veil was torn, the earth did quake,
The centurion feared the sight:
“Truly this Man was God’s own Son,”
Confessed by fading torch and night.
They sealed Him in a borrowed tomb,
Stone guarding what they thought was doom.
But early dawn on third-day morn
Split death and darkness clean apart.
The stone was rolled, the grave stood bare,
And hope arose in beating hearts.
“He is not here—He lives!” they cried,
As He had said—the Crucified.
From palm-strewn road to risen throne,
From cross to crown, from death to life,
Jesus, the Christ, forever reigns,
Victorious over sin and strife.
Hosanna turned to Hallelujah,
The slain Lamb lives eternally.
The Crucified now glorified—
Our Lord, our God, our victory.