Easter Wings

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 this day Thy victorie;

     For, if I imp my wing on Thine,

Affliction shall advance the flight in me.