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.