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 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 dry thine eyes.
Christ left His grave clothes, that we might when grief
Draws tears or blood, not want a handkerchief.
Beautiful poetry!