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 did’st so
punish sin,
That I
became
Most
thin.
With
thee
Let me
combine
And feel thy
victory:
For, if I imp my
wing on thine,
Affliction shall
advance the flight in me.

~ George Herbert