‘Rise, heart, Thy Lord is risen; sing His praise
Without delayes,
Who takes thee by the hand, that thou likewise
With Him mayst rise;
That, as His death calcinèd 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 crosse taught all wood to resound His name
Who bore the same;
His stretchèd 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 musick is but three parts vied
And multiplied,
O, let Thy blessèd Spirit bare a part,
And make up our defects with His sweet art.

George Herbert

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