Choral Public Domain Library

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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.