Easter Wings by 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