EASTER
Rise, heart; thy Lord is risen. Sing his praise
Without
delays,
Who takes thee by the hand, that thou likewise
With
him may'st 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 cross 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 heart and lute, and twist a song
Pleasant
and long:
Or since all music 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 strew 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, and th' East perfume;
If
they should offer to contest
With
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.
by George Herbert 1593-1633
source: The Poetical Works Of George Herbert, ed. George Gilfillan. Edinburgh: James Nichol, 1853