From the cross ’twould free the Saviour,
Its Creator’s Son release.
And the Saviour speaks in mildness:
“Blest be thou of all the good!
Bear, as token of this moment,
Marks of blood and holy rood!”
And that bird is called the Crossbill;
Covered all with blood so clear,
In the groves of pine it singeth
Songs, like legends, strange to hear.