A crowd fills the court of the tem­ple,
A sound as of praise stirs the air,
Jerusalem thrills with emo­tion,
The Lord of the tem­ple is there!
In vain is the priest­ly dis­plea­sure
To si­lence the an­thems that ring;
Hosanna! Ho­san­na! Ho­san­na!
The child­ren all joy­ful­ly sing.

And if in this tem­ple of wor­ship,
Where now we are met in His name,
The Lord should ap­pear in His beau­ty,
Himself His own Gos­pel pro­claim,
What an­thems of grate­ful de­vo­tion
Around Him would ec­ho and ring;
Hosanna! Ho­san­na! Hosan­na!
The child­ren would joy­ful­ly sing.

Lord! make each young heart Thine own tem­ple,
Reveal Thy sweet pre­sence with­in,
Illumine our minds by Thy com­ing,
Expel ev­ery long­ing for sin:
And when in our souls we adore Thee,
How pure the glad praise we shall bring!
Hosanna! Ho­san­na! Hosan­na!
The child­ren will joy­ful­ly sing.

And when in that tem­ple of glo­ry,
Where falls ne­ver sha­dow of night,
Where sor­row and sin ne­ver sad­den,
And Thou shalt Thy­self be the light;
When round Thee the ran­somed are throng­ing,
High Heav’n with their prais­es will ring,
Hosanna! Ho­san­na! Ho­san­na!
Thy child­ren for ev­er will sing.