Lord, Who createdst man in wealth and store, <br />Though foolishly he lost the same, <br />Decaying more and more, <br />Till he became <br />Most poore: <br /> <br />With Thee <br />O let me rise, <br />As larks, harmoniously, <br />And sing this day Thy victories: <br />Then shall the fall further the flight in me. <br /> <br />My tender age in sorrow did beginne; <br />And still with sicknesses and shame <br />Thou didst so punish sinne, <br />That I became <br />Most thinne. <br /> <br />With Thee <br />Let me combine, <br />And feel this day Thy victorie; <br />For, if I imp my wing on Thine, <br />Affliction shall advance the flight in me.<br /><br />George Herbert<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/easter-wings/
