Awake, sad heart, whom sorrow ever drowns: Take up thine eyes, which feed on earth,
Unfold thy forehead, gather'd into frowns: Thy Saviour comes, and with Him mirth: Awake, awake;
And with a thankful heart his comforts take, But thou dost still lament, and pine, and crie; And feel his death, but not his victorie.
Arise, sad heart; if thou dost not withstand, Christ's resurrection thine may be:
Do not by hanging down break from the hand, Which as it riseth, raiseth thee; Arise, arise;
And with His burial linen drie thine eyes. Christ left his grave-clothes, that we might, when grief Draws tears, or bloud, not want a handkerchief.
