St Paul's Anglican Cathedral, Melbourne, Victoria, AustraliaEaster Service
EASTER
Rise heart; your Lord is risen. Sing his praise
Without delays,
Who takes you by the hand, that you likewise
With him may rise:
That, as his death fire burnt you to dust,
His life may make you gold, and much more, just.
Awake, my lute, and struggle for they part
With all your 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 your blessed Spirit bear a part,
And make up our defects with his sweet art.
I got me flowers to strew your way;
I got me boughs off many a tree:
But you were up by break of day,
And brought your sweets along with thee.
The Sun arising in the East,
Though he give light, & th' East perfume;
If they should offer to contest
With your arising, they presume.
Can there be any day but this,
Though many suns to shine endeavor?
We count three hundred, but we miss:
There is but one, and that one ever.
Rise heart; your Lord is risen. Sing his praise
Without delays,
Who takes you by the hand, that you likewise
With him may rise:
That, as his death fire burnt you to dust,
His life may make you gold, and much more, just.
Awake, my lute, and struggle for they part
With all your 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 your blessed Spirit bear a part,
And make up our defects with his sweet art.
I got me flowers to strew your way;
I got me boughs off many a tree:
But you were up by break of day,
And brought your sweets along with thee.
The Sun arising in the East,
Though he give light, & th' East perfume;
If they should offer to contest
With your arising, they presume.
Can there be any day but this,
Though many suns to shine endeavor?
We count three hundred, but we miss:
There is but one, and that one ever.
No comments:
Post a Comment