"Meanwhile He paces through th' adoring crowd, Calm as the march of some majestic cloud That o'er wild scenes of ocean war Holds its still course in Heaven afar.
"Yet in the throng of selfish hearts untrue, His sad eye rests upon His faithful few; Children and child-like souls are there, Blind Bartimeus' humble prayer; And Lazarus, waken'd from his four days' sleep, Enduring life again that Passover to keep."[28]
May not Olivet be regarded on this occasion as a type of the Church triumphant in Heaven--Jesus enthroned in the affections of a mighty multitude which no man can number--old and young, great and small, rich and poor--casting their palms of victory at His feet, and ascribing to Him all the glory of their great salvation?
Let _us_ ask, have _we_ received Jesus as _our_ King?--have _our_ palm branches been cast at His feet? Feeling that He is alike willing and mighty to save, have we joined in the rapture of praise--"Blessed is He that cometh in the name of the Lord to save us?" Have our hearts become living temples thrown open for His reception? Is this the motto and superscription on their portals--"This is the gate of the Lord, into which THE RIGHTEOUS ONE shall enter!" Jesus refused and disowned none of these gratulations--He spurned no voice in all that motley Jerusalem throng. There were endless diversities and phases, doubtless, of human character and history there. The once proud formalist, the once greedy extortioner, the hated tax-gatherer, the rich nobleman, the child of penury, the Roman officer, the peasant or fisherman of Galilee, the humbled publican, the woman from the city, the reclaimed victim of misery and guilt! All were there as types and samples of that diversified multitude who, in every age, were to own Him as King, and receive His gracious benediction.
We have spoken of this incident as a glimpse of glory before His sufferings. Alas! it _was_ but a glimpse. What a picture of the fickleness and treachery of the heart!--That excited populace who are now shouting their hosannahs, are ere long to be raising the cry, "Crucify Him, crucify Him!" Four days hence we shall find the palm branches lying withered on the Bethany road, and the blazing torches of an assassin-band nigh the very spot where He is now passing with an applauding retinue! "Cease ye from man, whose breath is in his nostrils."