It seemed that I saw a most wondrous tree
born aloft, wound round by light,
brightest of beams. All was that beacon
sprinkled with gold. Gems stood
fair at earth’s corners; there likewise five
shone on the shoulder-span. All there beheld the Angel of God
fair through predestiny. Indeed, that was no wicked one’s gallows,
but holy souls beheld it there,
men over earth, and all this great creation.
Wondrous that victory-beam–and I stained with sins,
with wounds of disgrace. I saw glory’s tree
honored with trappings, shining with joys,
decked with gold; gems had
wrapped that forest tree worthily round.