ANT. 5

Hear, thou earth, the heavy-hearted

Weary nurse of waning races;

From the dust of years departed,

From obscure funereal places,

Raise again thy sacred head,

Lift the light up of thine eyes

Where are they of all thy dead

That did more than these men dying

In their godlike Grecian wise?

Not with garments rent and sighing,

Neither gifts of myrrh and gold,

Shall their sons lament them lying,

Lest the fame of them wax cold;

But with lives to lives replying,

And a worship from of old.