I thought to tell of beauty
But found myself at loss
To tell of the beauty of mountain and sea
When faced with the beautiful cross.

Its beauty is not in the grain of its wood,
Its structure I couldn't adore;
The beauty I see; what's so lovely to me,
Is the burden of love that it bore.

To some it is only a symbol,
To others a burden of care,
But 'tis beauty to me, this cross I see,
For my sins were all paid for there.