The Call

1.

COME, my heart ! come, my head,

          In sighs, and tears !

'Tis now, since you have lain thus dead,

          Some twenty years ;

          Awake, awake,

          Some pity take

          Upon yourselves !

Who never wake to groan, nor weep,

Shall be sentenc'd for their sleep.

2.

Do but see your sad estate,

          How many sands

Have left us, while we careless sate

          With folded hands ;

          What stock of nights,

          Of days, and years

          In silent flights

          Stole by our ears ;

How ill have we ourselves bestow'd,

Whose suns are all set in a cloud !

3.

Yet come, and let's peruse them all,

          And as we pass,

What sins on every minute fall

          Score on the glass ;

          Then weigh, and rate

          Their heavy state,

                    Until

       The glass with tears you fill ;

That done, we shall be safe and good :

Those beasts were clean that chew'd the cud.