Classic Poem

Wake my Soul, rise from this Bed
Of dull and sluggish earth:
Quickly rise, lift up thy head,
And see thy Lords new birth.
Once He cam, O blessed He!
Born of a Virgin-Womb.
Now He comes (both times for thee)
Sprung from a Virgin tomb.
Lo he rises fresh and bright,
Incircled round with Stars;
Which from Him take all their light,
And from his glorious Scars.
Stil as He his progress makes
Up to his heav'n again,
Each blest Saint his musick takes,
And follows in his train.
Thus together They ascend,
Til at heav'n gates they come;
Where the Angels all attend,
To bid them welcome home.
Soon they know again their King,
Soon they his Call obey:
All the Quires come forth to sing,
And crown with mirth the Day.
Come, my soul, let us rejoyce,
Let us our Concert bring:
Up to heav'n lets lift our voice,
And with the Angels sing,
Glory, honor, pow'r and praise
To the mysterious Three;
As at first beginning was,
May now, and ever be.