RISE heart ; thy Lord is risen. Sing his praise
Who takes thee by the hand, that thou
mayst rise :
That, as his death calcined thee to dust,
His life may make thee gold, and much more
Awake, my lute, and struggle for thy part
The crosse taught all wood to resound his
His stretched sinews taught all strings,
Is best to celebrate this most high day.
Consort both heart and lute, and twist a
and long :
Or since all music is but three parts vied,
O let thy blessed Spirit bear a part,
And make up our defects with his sweet art.
I got me flowers to straw thy way
I got me boughs off many a tree
But thou wast up by break of day,
And brought’st thy sweets along with
The Sunne arising in the East,
Though he give light, and th’ East
If they should offer to contest
With thy arising, they presume.
Can there be any day but this,
Though many sunnes to shine
We count three hundred, but we misse
There is but one, and that one ever.