The Dawning

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.