Easter Wings
Lord, who createdst man in wealth and store,Though foolishly he lost the same,Decaying more and more,Till he becameMost poor:With theeO let me riseAs 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 shameThou didst so punish sin,That I becameMost thin.With theeLet me combineAnd feel this day thy victory:For, if I imp my wing on thine,Affliction shall advance the flight in me.
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