CCLX. Christians quickened and raised by the Spirit.

WHY should our mourning Thoughts [delight
To grovel in the Dust?
Or why should Streams of Tears unite
Around th' expiring Just?

Did not the Lord our Saviour die,
And triumph o'er the Grave?
Did not our Lord ascend on high,
And prove his Pow'r to save?

Doth not the sacred Spirit come,
And dwell in all the Saints?
And should the Temples of his Grace
Resound with long Complaints?

Awake, my Soul, and like the Sun
Burst thro' each sable Cloud;
And thou, my Voice, tho' broke with Sighs,
Tune forth thy Songs aloud.

The Spirit rais'd my Saviour up,
When he had bled for me;
And spite of Death and Hell shall raise
Thy pious Friends and thee.

Awake, ye Saints, that dwell in Dust,
Your Hymns of Vict'ry sing;
And let his dying Servants trust
Their ever-living King.