Awake, sad heart, whom sorrow ever drowns;
Take up thine eyes, which feed on earth;
Unfold thy forehead, gathered into frowns;
Thy Saviour comes, and with him mirth:
And with a thankful heart his comforts take.
But thou dost still lament, and pine, and cry,
And feel his death, but not his victory.
Arise, sad heart; if thou dost not withstand,
Christ’s resurrection thine may be;
Do not by hanging down break from the hand
Which, as it riseth, raiseth thee:
And with his burial linen dry thine eyes.
Christ left his grave clothes, that we might, when grief
Draws tears or blood, not want a handkerchief.
This poem was originally published in The Temple: Sacred Poems and Private Ejaculations by George Herbert (1633).