“Easter,” by George Herbert, 1633.
Rise heart; thy Lord is risen. Sing his praiseWithout delays,Who takes thee by the hand, that thou likewiseWith 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 partWith all thy art.The crosse taught all wood to resound his name,Who bore the same.His stretched sinews taught all strings, what keyIs best to celebrate this most high day.
Consort both heart and lute, and twist a songPleasant and long:Or, since all music is but three parts viedAnd 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 brought’st thy sweets along with thee.
The Sun arising in the East,Though he give light, & th’ East perfume;If they should offer to contestWith thy arising, they presume.
Can there be any day but this,Though many suns to shine endeavour?We count three hundred, but we miss:There is but one, and that one ever.