O Bride of Christ, re­joice!
Exultant raise thy voice
To hail the day of glo­ry,
Foretold in sac­red story.

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Hosanna, praise and glo­ry,
Our king, we bow be­fore Thee.

Let shouts of glad­ness rise
Triumphant to the skies.
Here comes the King most glo­ri­ous
To reign o’er all vic­to­ri­ous

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He wears no king­ly crown
Yet as a king He’s known;
Though not ar­rayed in splen­dor,
He still makes death sur­ren­der.

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The weak and ti­mid find
How meek He is and kind;
To them He gives a trea­sure
Of bliss be­yond all mea­sure.

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Thy heart now op­en wide,
Bid Christ with thee abide;
He gra­cious­ly will hear thee,
And be for­ev­er near thee.

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Then go thy Lord to meet;
Strew palm leaves at His feet;
Thy gar­ments spread before Him
And hon­or and adore Him.

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E’en babes with one ac­cord
With thee shall praise the Lord,
And ev­ery gen­tile na­tion
Respond with ex­ul­ta­tion.

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