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.
Up to the Hill of Calvary
With Christ our Lord ascending,
We deem that Cross our victory
'Neath which His knees are bending:—
What soldier is of generous strain?
One honour let him cherish;—
With Christ upon the battle plain
A thousand times to perish!
On must the faithful warrior go
Whereso the Chief proceedeth;
And all true hearts will seek the foe
Where'er the Banner leadeth;—
Our highest victory,—it is loss:
No cup hath such completeness
Of gall, but that remembered Cross
Will turn it into sweetness!
Doth sickness hover o'er thy head,
In weakness art thou lying?
Behold upon the Cross's bed
Thy sick Physician dying;
No member in the holy frame
That there for thee must languish,
But what thy pride hath clothed with shame,—
But what thy sin, with anguish!
Have wealth and honour spread their wing
And left thee all unfriended?—
See naked on the Cross thy King,—
And thy regrets are ended:
The fox hath where to lay his head,
Her nest receives the sparrow:
Thy Monarch, for His latest bed,
One plank hath, hard and narrow!
Thy good name suffers from the tongue
Of slanderers and oppressors?
Jesus, as on the Cross He hung,
Was reckoned with transgressors!
More than the nails and than the spear
His sacred limbs assailing,
Judæa's children pierced His ear
With blasphemy and railing.
Fear'st thou the death that comes to all,
And knows no interceder?—
O glorious struggle!—thou wilt fall,
The soldier by the Leader!
Christ went with death to grapple first,
And vanquished him before thee:
His darts then, let him do his worst,
Can win no triumph o'er thee!
And, if thy conscience brands each sense
With many a past defilement,
Here, by the fruits of penitence,
Hope thou for reconcilement!
For He, Who bowed His holy Head,
In death serenely sleeping,
Hath grace on contrite hearts to shed,
And pardon for the weeping! Amen.