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.