We are to conceive of a couple of half choirs, the one within, the other
without the mountain hold. The advancing choir summons the gates to open
in the grand words: 'Lift up your heads, O ye gates! even lift them up,
ye everlasting doors, and the King of Glory shall come in.' Their lofty
lintels are too low for His head to pass beneath; so they have to be
lifted that He may find entrance. They are 'everlasting doors,' grey
with antiquity, hoary with age. They have looked down, perhaps, upon
Melchizedek, King of Salem, as he went forth in the morning twilight of
history to greet the patriarch. But in all the centuries they have never
seen such a King as this King of Glory, the true King of Israel who now
desires entrance.

The answer to the summons comes from the choir within. 'Who is this King
of Glory?' the question represents ignorance and possible hesitation, as
if the pagan inhabitants of the recently conquered city knew nothing of
the God of Israel, and recognised no authority in His name. Of course,
the dramatic form of question and answer is intended to give additional
force to the proclamation as by God Himself of the Covenant name, the
proper name of Israel's God, as Baal was the name of the Canaanite's
God, 'the Lord strong and mighty; the Lord mighty in battle,' by whose
warrior power David had conquered the city, which now was summoned to
receive its conqueror. Therefore the summons is again rung out, 'Lift up
your heads, O ye gates! and the King of Glory shall come in.' And once
more, to express the lingering reluctance, ignorance not yet dispelled,
suspicion and unwilling surrender, the dramatic question is repeated,
'Who is this King of Glory?' The answer is sharp and authoritative in
its brevity, and we may fancy it shouted with a full-throated
burst--'The Lord of Hosts,' who, as Captain, commands all the embattled
energies of earth and heaven conceived as a disciplined army. That great