CRUSADER'S HYMN.

Min fröede wart nie sorgelos

My joy was ne'er unmixed with care

Until the day

I took this sign that now I bear,

Christ's flower of May:

It tells us of a summer-time,

That will not wither,

A lovely, eye-delighting clime:

God bring us thither!

Up to the numerous choirs,

From which to deepest fires,

His falsehood hurled the Prince of Ill;

But to the good stand open still.

For so the world with me hath dealt,

My mind no more

Longs for her gifts; what once I felt,

Thank God, is o'er!

God hath been very good to me

O'er many another,

Since He from cares hath set me free

That choke and smother

Love in the heart, and bind to home

The foot that fain afar would roam;

While I exultant onward fare,

The triumphs of Christ's hosts to share.