The Call

1. COME, my heart ! come, my head, In sighs, and tears ! 'Tis now, since you have lain thus dead, Some twenty years ; Awake, awake, Some pity take Upon yourselves ! Who never wake to groan, nor weep, Shall be sentenc'd for their sleep. 2. Do but see your sad estate, How many sands Have left us, while we careless sate With folded hands ; What stock of nights, Of days, and years In silent flights Stole by our ears ; How ill have we ourselves bestow'd, Whose suns are all set in a cloud ! 3. Yet come, and let's peruse them all, And as we pass, What sins on every minute fall Score on the glass ; Then weigh, and rate Their heavy state, Until The glass with tears you fill ; That done, we shall be safe and good : Those beasts were clean that chew'd the cud.