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
      Oh 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.

~George Herbert