Easter Wings Poem Text

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.