The Call
1.
COME,
my
heart
!
come,
my
head,
In
sighs,
and
tears
!
'Tis
now,
since
you
have
lain
thus
dead,
Some
twenty
years
;
Awake,
awake,
Some
pity
take
Upon
yourselves
!
Who
never
wake
to
groan,
nor
weep,
Shall
be
sentenc'd
for
their
sleep.
2.
Do
but
see
your
sad
estate,
How
many
sands
Have
left
us,
while
we
careless
sate
With
folded
hands
;
What
stock
of
nights,
Of
days,
and
years
In
silent
flights
Stole
by
our
ears
;
How
ill
have
we
ourselves
bestow'd,
Whose
suns
are
all
set
in
a
cloud
!
3.
Yet
come,
and
let's
peruse
them
all,
And
as
we
pass,
What
sins
on
every
minute
fall
Score
on
the
glass
;
Then
weigh,
and
rate
Their
heavy
state,
Until
The
glass
with
tears
you
fill
;
That
done,
we
shall
be
safe
and
good
:
Those
beasts
were
clean
that
chew'd
the
cud.
