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 didst 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.