217
Exite, Sion Filiæ[1]
Daughters of Sion, see your King!
Go forth, go forth to meet Him!
Your Solomon is hastening
Where that dear flock shall greet Him!
The sceptre and the crown by right
He wears, in robe of purple dight.
Your Solomon, the Prince of Peace,
Bears not His Mother's laurel:
But with the olive bids to cease
The long and bloody quarrel:
Jesus, the Son of God Most High,
Offers His peace to them that die.
It glitters fair, His Diadem,
