Upon the wind there comes a call, a whisper soft and low, a lonesome cry that fills the night and echoes through the soul. It stirs the seeker’s tender heart. It bids them come and see, to kneel in shadows cast by grace, to touch the weeping tree. Against the sky the timbers rise, a silhouette of grace, a rugged throne for heaven’s own, the sinner’s hiding place. Its burdened arms reach out to all; they draw the world to see the price of love is paid in blood upon the weeping tree. O come to the place where promise lives and rest where hope begins, where crimson leaves adorn the ground, a gift from graceful winds. O come and walk the winding path that leads to Calvary. Come lay your burdens down and rest beneath the weeping tree. Come lay your burdens down and rest beneath the weeping tree.