Easter Wings

 Lord, who createdst man in wealth and store,
  Though foolishly he lost the same,
   Decaying more and more,
     Till he became
      Most poor:
      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 begin:
  And still with sicknesses and shame
   Thou didst so punish sin,
     That I became
      Most thin.
      With thee
     Let me combine
   And feel this day thy victory:
   For, if I imp my wing on thine,
 Affliction shall advance the flight in me.

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