This text comes from Mediaeval Hymns and Sequences, edited by John Mason Neale, a historical songbook transcribed on Wikisource and reproduced from the pinned revision linked below.
Be the Cross our theme and story,
We who in the Cross's glory
Shall exult for evermore.
By the Cross the warrior rises,
By the Cross the foe despises,
Till he gains the heavenly shore.
Sweetest praises
Earth upraises:
Accents sweetest
Are the meetest
For the Trees of sweetest cheer:
Life and voice keep well in chorus;
Then the melody sonorous
Shall make concord true and clear.
Love be warm, and praise be fervent,
Thou that art the Cross's servant,
And in that hast rest from strife:
Every kindred, every nation,
Hail the Tree that brings Salvation,
Tree of Beauty, Tree of Life!
O how glorious, how transcendent
Was this Altar! how resplendent
In the life-blood of the Lamb!
Of the Lamb Immaculate
That redeemed our ancient state
From its sin and from its shame.
Ladder this, to sinners given,
Whereby Christ, the King of Heaven,
Drew to Him both friends and foes:
Who its nature hath expended
In its limits comprehended
All the world's four quarters knows.
No new Sacraments we mention;
We devise no fresh invention:
This religion was of old;
Wood made sweet the bitter current:
Wood called forth the rushing torrent
From the smitten rock that rolled.
No salvation for the mansion
Where the Cross in meet expansion
On the door-post stood not graved:
Where it stood, the midnight blast
Of the avenging Angel passed,
And the first-born child was saved.
Wood the widow's hands collected,
When salvation unexpected
Came, the Prophet's mystic boon:
Where the wood of faith is wanted,
There the Spirit's oil is scanted,
And the meal is wasted soon.
Rome beheld each shattered vessel
And Maxentius vainly wrestle
In the stream against its might:
This procured the bright ovation
O'er the Persian and the Thracian
When Heraclius won the fight.
Types of old in Scripture hidden
Setting forth the Cross, are bidden,
In these days, to fuller light;
Kings are flying, foes are dying,
On the Cross of Christ relying
One a thousand puts to flight.
This its votaries still secureth,
Victory evermore assureth,
Weakness and diseases cureth,
Triumphs o'er the powers of hell:
Satan's captives liberateth,
Life in sinners renovateth,
All in glory reinstateth
Who by ancient Adam fell.
Tree, triumphal might possessing,
Earth's salvation, crown, and blessing,
Every other prætergressing
Both in bloom and bud and flower:
Medicine of the Christian spirit,
Save the just, give sinners merit,
Who dost might for deeds inherit
Overpassing human power. Amen.
Ce n'est pas nouvel sacrament:
Tel religion nouvelement
Si n'a pas esté trouvée.
Douche eaue fist qui est amere:
Par li jeta pierre eaue clere
Quant de Moyse fa hurtée.
Nul salu n'est en la maison,
Se de la Crois n'est par raison,
Par aucun garnie a l'entrée :
Ne glaive n'a enduré
Ne son enfant adiré
Cil qui tel chose a ouvrée.
La povre femme qui estoit
En Sarepte, où buche cueilloit,
Acquist la grace divine :
Qui de la crois n'a creance
L'uile n'a point d'abondance,
Ni le pot de farine.