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.
