O voice of the Belov�d!
Thy bride hath heard Thee say,
�Rise up, My love, My fair one,
Arise and come away.
For lo, �tis past, the winter,
The winter of thy year;
The rain is past and over,
The flowers on earth appear.
�And now the time of singing
Is come for every bird;
And over all the country
The turtle dove is heard;
The fig her green fruit ripens,
The vines are in their bloom;
Arise and smell their fragrance;
My love, My fair one, come!�
Yea, Lord! Thy Passion over,
We know this life of ours
Hath passed from death and winter
To leaves and budding flowers;
No more Thy rain of weeping
In drear Gethsemane;
No more the clouds and darkness,
That veiled Thy bitter Tree.
Our Easter Sun is risen!
And yet we slumber long,
And need Thy Dove�s sweet pleading
To waken prayer and song.
Oh breathe upon our deadness,
Oh shine upon our gloom;
Lord, let us feel Thy presence
And rise and live and bloom.
