Easter Wings
by George Herbert (1593-1633)

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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