Palm Sunday

by Lucy M. Young

When Jesus entered Jerusalem
On that Sunday so long ago
The multitude greeted Him joyously
In His path palm branches did throw.

But His eyes held only sadness,
Compassion filled His heart;
For He knew His time was limited,
From this life He would soon depart.

He blessed the crowd as He slowly rode
Down the narrow dusty street.
His heart was heavy as He looked ahead
To the trouble He must meet.

He was weary and worn, He was troubled
By the sorrow and pain He must bear;
But He breathed a prayer to His Father
Entrusting His life to His care.

When the palms are passed in remembrance
Of the Master's humble ride,
May we dedicate our lives anew
To the purpose for which He died?