"Easter Wings"

By George Herbert

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