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 :
Awake, awake,
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 :
Arise, Arise;
And with His burial linen drie thine eyes.
Christ left His grave-clothes, that we might, when grief
Draws tears or blood, not want a handkerchief.
'Arise sad soul'... And give strife blow... Kindle thou the fire of love.... By God that no being can shove.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
To stop my struggle with painful reality during the dark hours, I switched on Something Understood at 6 am and listened to Rabbi Shoshana Boyd on Fragility. It felt as if she was speaking to me. When she ended, I thought of George Herbert, his fierce struggle expressed in 'The Collar 'I struck the Board and....