by George Herbert
Awake, sad heart, whom sorrow ever drowns;
Take up thine eyes, which feed on earth;
Unfold thy forehead gathered into frowns:
Thy Savior comes, and with him mirth:
And with a thankful heart his comforts take.
But thou dost still lament, and pine and cry;
And feel his death, but not his victory.
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 dry thine eyes:
Christ left his grave-clothes, that we might, when grief
Draws tears, or blood, not want an handkerchief.