The street stands crowd­ed from wall to wall.
Yon He­brew boy, come here, I pray,
And tell me what has suf­ficed to call
Such mul­ti­tude abroad to­day.

Friend, do you see up­on yon­der hill
Where winds the road round Ol­ive’s brow?
“Lad, I see on­ly the sun­shine still
And rag­ged trees and dust be­low.

While on the path, some wea­ry men
With one in their midst, as poor as they
Is much be­spent, for I see again,
He rides an ass, and draws this way.

“I, stran­ger, ma­ny a month be­fore,
Stood on the coast of Gen­ne­sa­ret’s sea;
In wick­er basket, some loaves I bore,
From home, my mo­ther prepared for me.

“Now stran­ger, just at the set of sun,
He that was teach­ing called me near;
‘Your loaves will you give?’ ‘Ev­ery one!’
I said, and gave them with ne’er a fear.

“Well, stran­ger, five thou­sand men and more
Had heard the teach­er’s words that day,
And these were hung­ry; He bless­ed my store,
And fed them all, and sent away.

Now stran­ger, rides to­ward the gate
The teach­er, He that spoke that day;
I seek Him now, would not be late—
Keep me no long­er; I can­not stay.

Hosanna! down from the hill they cry,
Hosanna! comes back from town be­low
With hom­age meet and hon­or high,
At Christ’s dear feet green palms they throw.