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 thankfull 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,

Christs resurrection thine may be:

Do not by hanging down break from the hand,

Which as it riseth, raiseth thee:

Arise, arise;

And with his buriall-linen drie thine eyes:

Christ left his grave-clothes, that we might, when grief

Draws tears, or bloud, not want an handkerchief.