Thou, whose sad heart, and weeping head lies low,
Whose cloudy breast cold damps invade,
Who never feels the Sun, nor smooths thy brow,
But sits oppressed in the shade,
And in his Resurrection partake,
Who, on this day (that thou might rise as he)
Rose up, and cancelled two deaths due to thee.
Awake, awake: and like the Sun, disperse
All mists that would usurp this day;Where are thy Palms, thy branches, and thy verse?
Hosanna! Hark; why dost thou stay?
And with his healing blood anoint thine Eyes,
Thy inward Eyes; his blood will cure thy mind,
Whose spittle only could restore the blind.
Death, and darkness, get you packing;
Nothing now to man is lacking.
All your triumphs now are ended,
And what Adam marred, is mended;
Graves are beds now for the weary,
Death a nap, to wake more merry;
You now, full of pious duty,
Seeks in thee for perfect beauty,
The weak, and aged, tired with length
Of days, from thee look for new strength,
And infants with thy pangs contest
As pleasant, as if with the breast.
Then, unto him, who thus hath thrown
Even to contempt thy kingdom down,
And by his blood did us advance
Unto his own Inheritance,
To him be glory, power, praise,
From this, unto the last of days.