Monday, April 17, 2017

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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