Only one hymn befits Palm Sunday, at least so far as this series of postings is concerned. I learned the original version as a child, so when I was introduced to the BPW version found it odd that it began with a verse about Jesus going to dies, rather than the 'happy' Palm Sunday verse. However, over time I have come to cherish the alternative version which holds the tension that even in the 'happy' Palm Sunday, Christ is indeed going forth to die. For anyone who is interested, I have also added a modern rework of the concept, from The Iona Community
Morning worship today will take us on a journey from Palm Sunday to Gethsemane, from festival to fear, delight to despair... it a serivce I love and which never fails to move me.
Original Version
Ride on, ride on in majesty!
Hark, all the tribes hosanna cry.
O Saviour meek, pursue thy road
with palms and scattered garments strowed.
Ride on, ride on in majesty!
In lowly pomp ride on to die:
O Christ, thy triumphs now begin
o'er captive death and conquered sin.
Ride on, ride on in majesty!
the wingèd squadrons of the sky
look down with sad and wondering eyes
to see the approaching sacrifice.
Ride on, ride on in majesty!
The last and fiercest strife is nigh:
the Father on his sapphire throne
awaits his own anointed Son.
Ride on, ride on in majesty!
in lowly pomp ride on to die;
bow thy meek head to mortal pain,
then take, O God, thy power, and reign.
BPW Version, Hymn 225
Ride on, ride on in majesty!
In lowly pomp ride on to die:
O Christ, your triumphs now begin
to capture death and conquer sin.
Ride on, ride on in majesty!
While all the tribes 'hosanna' cry,
they cast their garments at your feet
and wave the palms their King to greet.
Ride on, ride on in majesty!
your last and fiercest strife is nigh!
the Father on his sapphire throne
awaits his own anointed Son.
Ride on, ride on in majesty!
in lowly pomp ride on to die!
bow down your head to mortal pain,
then take, O God, your power, and reign!
Henry Hart Milman (1791-1868)
Iona Community hymn
Ride on, ride on, the time is right:
the roadside crowds scream with delight;
palm branches mark the pilgrim way
where beggars squat and children play.
Ride on, ride on your critics wait,
intrigue and rumour circulate;
new lies abound in word and jest
and truth becomes a suspect guest.
Ride on, ride on while well aware
that those who shout and wave and stare
are mortals, who with common breath,
can crave for life and lust for death.
Ride on, ride on, though blind with tears,
though dumb to speak and deaf to jeers.
Your path is clear, though few can tell
their garments pave the road to Hell.
Ride on, ride on, the room is let,
the wine matured, the saw is whet;
and dice your death-throes shall attend
though faith, not fate, dictates your end.
Ride on, ride on, God's love demands.
Justice and peace lie in your hands.
Evil and angel voices rhyme;
this is the man and this, the time.
John L Bell (born 1949) and Graham Maule (born 1958)© 1988, 1996 WGRG, Iona Community
