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.