Good Morrow

Good Morrow (Elgar)

You that have spent the silent night

In sleep and quiet rest,

And joy to see the cheerful light

That riseth in the east;

Now clear your voice, and cheer your heart,

Come help me now to sing:

Each willing wight, come bear a part,

To praise the heav'nly King.

And you whom care in prison keeps,

Or sickness doth suppress,

Or secret sorrow breaks your sleeps,

Or dolours do distress;

Yet bear a part in doleful wise,

Yea, think it good accord

And an acceptable sacrifice,

Each sprite to praise the Lord.

The little birds which sing so sweet

Are like the angels' voice,

Which render God His praises meet

And teach us to rejoice:

And as they more esteem that mirth

Than dread the night's annoy,

So much we deem our days on earth

But hell to heav'nly joy.

Unto which joys for to attain,

God grant us all His grace,

And send us, after worldly pain,

In heav'n to have a place,

Where we may still enjoy that light

Which never shall decay:

Lord for Thy mercy lend us might

To see that joyful day.

The rainbow bending in the sky,

Bedeck'd with sundry hues,

Is like the seat of God on high,

And seems to tell these news:

That as thereby He promised

To drown the world no more,

So by the blood which Christ hath shed,

He will our health restore.

Good Morrowe (Gascoigne)

You that have spent the silent night

In sleepe and quiet rest,

And joye to see the cheerfull lyght

That ryseth in the East:

Now cleare your voyce, and chere your hart,

Come helpe me nowe to sing:

Eche willing wight, come beare a part,

To prayse the heavenly King.

And you whome care in prison keepes,

Or sickenes dothe suppresse,

Or secret sorrow breakes your sleepes,

Or dolours doe distresse:

Yet beare a parte in dolfull wise,

Yea, thinke it good accorde

And an acceptable sacrifice,

Eche sprite to prayse the lorde.

The little byrdes which sing so swete,

Are like the angelles voyce,

Which render God his prayses meete,

And teach us to rejoyce:

And as they more esteeme that myrth

Than dread the nights anoy,

So much we deeme our days on earth,

But hell to heavenly joye.

Unto which Joyes for to attayne,

God graunt us all his grace,

And sende us after worldly payne,

In heaven to have a place,

Where we maye still enjoye that light

Which never shall decaye:

Lorde for thy mercy lend us might

To see that joyfull daye.

The Rainbowe bending in the skye,

Bedeckte with sundrye hewes,

Is like the seate of God on hye,

And seemes to tell these newes:

That as thereby he promisèd,

To drowne the world no more,

So by the bloud which Christ hath shead,

He will our helth restore.