Oppressed with noon-day’s scorching heat,
To yonder cross I flee;
Beneath its shelter take my seat;
No shade like this for me!
Beneath that cross clear waters burst,
A fountain sparkling free;
And there I quench my desert thirst;
No spring like this for me!
A stranger here, I pitch my tent
Beneath this spreading tree;
Here shall my pilgrim life be spent;
No home like this for me!
For burdened ones a resting place,
Beside that cross I see;
Here I cast off my weariness;
No rest like this for me!