AWAKE sad heart, whom sorrow ever drowns: Take up thine eyes, which feed on earth, Unfold thy forehead gather’d into frowns; Thy Saviour comes, and with him mirth: Awake, awake; And with a thankfull heart his comforts take. But thou dost still lament, and pine, and crie; And feel his death, but not his victorie.
The Temple George Herbert, The Works of George Herbert (London: George Routledge & Co., 1854), 114.
Photo by Jessie Eastland - Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=22865059
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