Easter Wings (George Herbert)

 Lord, who createdst man in wealth and store, 

Though foolishly he lost the same, 

Decaying more and more, 

Till he became 

Most poore: 

With thee 

O let me rise 

As larks, harmoniously 

And sing this day thy victories: 

Then shall the fall further the flight in me. 

  

My tender age in sorrow did beginne 

And still with sicknesses and shame. 

Thou didst so punish sinne, 

That I became 

Most thinne. 

With thee 

Let me combine 

And feel thy victorie: 

For, if I imp my wing on thine, 

Affliction shall advance the flight in me. 

--George Herbert, Easter Wings

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