Easter: (Poem I)
Rise
heart;
thy
lord
is
risen.
Sing
his
praise
Without
delayes,
Who
takes
thee
by
the
hand,
that
thou
likewise
With
him
mayst
rise:
That,
as
his
death
calcinèd
thee
to
dust,
His
life
may
make
thee
gold,
and
much
more
just.
Awake,
my
lute,
and
struggle
for
thy
part
With
all
thy
art,
The
crosse
taught
all
wood
to
resound
his
name
Who
bore
the
same.
His
stretchèd
sinews
taught
all
strings,
what
key
Is
best
to
celebrate
this
most
high
day.
Consort,
both
heart
and
lute,
and
twist
a
song
Pleasant
and
long;
Or
since
all
musick
is
but
three
parts
vied,
And
multiplied;
O
let
thy
blessèd
Spirit
bear
a
part,
And
make
up
our
defects
with
his
sweet
art.
I
got
me
flowers
to
straw
yhy
way;
I
got
me
boughs
off
many
a
tree:
But
thou
wast
up
by
break
of
day,
And
brought'st
thy
sweets
along
with
thee.
The
Sunne
arising
in
the
East,
Though
he
give
light,
and
th'
East
perfume;
If
they
should
offer
to
contest
With
Thy
arising,
they
presume.
Can
there
be
any
day
but
this,
Though
many
sunnes
to
shine
endeavour?
We
count
three
hundred,
but
we
misse:
There
is
but
one,
and
that
one
ever.
