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Poem	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.
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