The King on a Colt
- Julie
- Apr 12
- 1 min read
The road was lined with cloaks and song.
A crowd had gathered, large and strong.
They lifted up their hopeful cries,
“Hosanna!” echoed through the skies.
The shouts rang both from young and old,
A prophecy in praises bold.
With palm branches raised high in air,
They welcomed hope with shouts of prayer.
No chariot, no battle cry—
Just humble entry beneath the sky.
The colt he rode, small and meek,
Carried the One of which the prophets did speak.
Love rode in on dusty ground,
Grace, not pride, wore Heaven’s crown.
He had no sword, no royal steed,
He instead brought mercy for souls in need.
He came not robed in rich display,
He loved and led a different way.
No golden crown, no robe of fame,
Yet all of Heaven knew His name!
The Light, the Life, the Promised One,
The Prince of Peace would be God’s risen Son.
But the people saw a King to reign,
Unaware his life lost would be their gain.
As the palms lay there in the street,
Crowds bowed low before His feet.
Not knowing their cheers would turn to cries,
That hope would hang beneath the skies.
The Savior came with eyes ahead,
To where His blood would soon be shed.
His throne would become a rugged tree,
Victory through humility.
Today, let hearts lift Him high!
The King who came then chose to die.
On this day, with branches tall,
We remember the One who died for all.
