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“Hosanna, loud
Hosanna
The little children sang;
Through pillared court and temple
The lovely anthem rang.
To Jesus, who had blest them,
Close folded to His breast,
The children sang their praises,
The simplest and the best.” [1]
The little children sang;
Through pillared court and temple
The lovely anthem rang.
To Jesus, who had blest them,
Close folded to His breast,
The children sang their praises,
The simplest and the best.” [1]
Palm Sunday, the day where pastel colors reappear in the
frills of little girls’ dresses and where church podiums are littered with
withering branches. It’s the day where the old hymns are sung in a key many
strain to reach and when all the guy’s ties match a similar spring-time scheme.
It’s one Sunday leading up to the most important day in all of Christendom-
Resurrection Sunday. In many cases, this is a day of great joy and celebration.
Children’s’ choirs often sing joyous songs, pastor’s preach of Hosannas and
laud, and the overall mood of the church body is generally upbeat. Why then,
does the very One receiving the praise begin to weep at the sight of it all?
