LET us extol the Cross’s praise,
And in its special glory raise
Our voice exultingly;
For by the Cross we triumph gain,
And o’er the cruel foe obtain
Life-giving victory.

Let dulcet sound to heaven resound,
O’er the sweet wood of holy Rood*
Rejoice, as it is meet;
Let life and words concordant be:
When life at one with words we see,
The symphony is sweet.

The Cross let all its servants praise,
By which new life and healthful days
Upon them are bestowed:
Let each and all together cry,
Hail, Cross! the world’s recovery,
Salvation-bearing Rood!

O how blessed, how renowned
Is this saving Altar found
On which the Lamb was slain;
Spotless Lamb, by Whom mankind
Full deliverance doth find
From sin’s primæval stain.

The ladder This sinners given,
By means of which Christ, King of heaven,
Drew to Him all our race;*
This doth the form thereof display,
The arms, outstretching every way
The world’s four parts embrace.

These are not novel mysteries,
Not newly doth the Cross uprise
Its mighty power to show;
This sweetened erst the bitter well;
Muses did from the rock compel
Water by this to flow.*

No safety in the house abides
Till by the Cross who there resides
His threshold doth secure;
No danger from the murderous foe,
No sad bereavement doth he know,
Who thus doth help procure.

The widow, lacking fire and widow
Who at Sarepta gathered wood,
The hope of safety gained;*
Without two sticks for faith to use,
Barrel of meal and scanty cruse*
Had increase ne’er obtained.

In ancient writ the Cross lay hid,
Yet types did show what now we know;
To us ‘tis brought to light.
Kings credence give, foes cease to strive;
By This alone, Christ leading, one
Doth thousands put to flight.

The Cross doth make its servants brave,
And ever victory to have;
Heals weakness and diseases grave;
Before it demons cower;
This to the captive freedom gives,
Regenerates our vicious lives;
All ancient dignity revives
Beneath the Cross’s power.

O holy Cross, triumphant Tree!
The world’s true health, all hail to thee!
Amidst the trees none such can be
In leaf, or flower, or bud.
Medicine of the Christian soul,
Heal Thou the sick, preserve the whole;
Things which no mortal can control
Cannot thy power elude.

Thou, Who the Cross didst hallow, hear
Us who that holy Cross revere;
The servants of Thy Cross convey
Unto the realms of changeless day,
When this life’s toils are o’er:
Those whom by pain Thou makest pure
From everlasting pains secure;
And when the Day of Wrath shall come,
Of Thy vast mercy fetch us home
To joys for evermore.