Ye left our souls with Christ on Calvary,
Where hearts might weep their living cruelty,
In their own depths Jerusalem’s lesson trace.
O cross-boughed branch of spicy northern spruce
That witness bore on that dim April day
To faith no waves of doubt shall wash away,
To love’s dear chains no envious state shall loose,
Blessing was ours who bore thee that gray morn
Through all the heedless glances of the street,
Through longing looks that knew thy meaning sweet,