lostheskald:

“A rood I was raised up; and I held high The noble King, the Lord of heaven above.
I dared not stoop. They pierced me with dark nails;
The scars can still be clearly seen on me,
The open wounds of malice. yet might I
Not harm them. They reviled us both together.
I was made wet all over with the blood
Which poured out from his side, after He had Sent forth His spirit. And I underwent
Full many a dire experience on that hill.
I saw the God of hosts stretched grimly out.
Darkness covered the Ruler’s corpse with clouds
His shining beauty; shadows passed across,
Black in the darkness. All creation wept,
Bewailed the King’s death; Christ was on the cross. // Rod wæs ic aræred. Ahof ic ricne cyning, heofona hlaford, hyldan me ne dorste. þurhdrifan hi me mid deorcan næglum. On me syndon þa dolg gesiene, opene inwidhlemmas. Ne dorste ic hira nænigum sceððan. Bysmeredon hie unc butu ætgædere. Eall ic wæs mid blode bestemed, begoten of þæs guman sidan, siððan he hæfde his gast onsended. Feala ic on þam beorge gebiden hæbbe wraðra wyrda. Geseah ic weruda god þearle þenian. þystro hæfdon bewrigen mid wolcnum wealdendes hræw, scirne sciman, sceadu forðeode, wann under wolcnum. Weop eal gesceaft, cwiðdon cyninges fyll. Crist wæs on rode.”

— The Dream of the Rood (C7th?)
Translation by Richard Hamer, 1970.