I
Waving in the autumn breeze,
Clap your hands, ye forest trees,
For the arms that now entwine
Needy souls, were stretched on thine.

II
And the cross that bore the weight
Of the Christ, Creator great,
By the power that still remains,
All the universe sustains.

III
Emblem, by the Church adored;
Might, that wields the kingly sword;
Glory, of the ransomed host;
Agony, of spirits lost.

IV
Cross of Christ! we lift our eyes
And behold the sacrifice;
For the arms that now entwine
Needy souls, were stretched on thine.

Hymns from the Morningland,