Awake, sad heart, whom sorrow ever drowns;

Take up thine eyes, which feed on earth;

Unfold thy forehead, gathered 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 cry,

And feel His death, but not His victory.

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 blood, not want a handkerchief.