Classic Poem

This day my Lord rose early from the dead,
Whiles I securely sleep in my soft bed,
Not dreaming what He did my soule to save
Which lay long dead and buried in the grave
Of sin. Haste then my soule, and take new breath
From Christ, to raise thee from this spiritual death;
Up with the break of day, and break thy chains
Made by thy sins, and wash away thy staines
Into that pure fountain which was opened wide,
And runs yet fresh out of thy Saviour's side.
He rising left His grave-clothes all behind,
Do so by thine, and banish from thy mind
All thoughts of putting them on any more,
But rise as gold refinèd from its ore,
Ne're to contract more drosse from earth again:
Clear and unspotted as the light remain;
So when that Christ to judg the world shall come,
Thou shalt not tremble at the day of doom,
But boldly stand before the judg, and hear
The final sentence publisht without fear;
To thy eternal comfort He shall say,
Good servant enter thou thy Master's joy.