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 calcined 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 stretched sinews taught all strings what key Is best to celebrate this most high day. Consort both harp and lute, and twist a song Pleasant and long: Or since all musick is but three parts vied And multiplied; 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 broughtst 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. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A CERTAIN POET ON THE DEBATES by EDGAR LEE MASTERS HIS MOTHER'S SERVICE TO OUR LADY by FRANCOIS VILLON SONNET: CUPID AND VENUS by MARK ALEXANDER BOYD AN EPITAPH ON M.H. by CHARLES COTTON THE WELCOME by THOMAS OSBORNE DAVIS ARS VICTRIX (IMITATED FROM THEOPHILE GAUTIER) by HENRY AUSTIN DOBSON |