BY GEORGE HERBERT
Lord, who createdst man in wealth and retailer,
Though foolishly he misplaced the identical,
Decaying an increasing number of,
Till he turned
O let me rise
As larks, harmoniously,
And sing this present day thy victories:
Then shall the autumn additional the flight in me.
My tender age in sorrow did beginne
And nonetheless with sicknesses and disgrace.
Thou didst so punish sinne,
That I turned
Let me mix,
And really feel thy victorie:
For, if I imp my wing on thine,
Affliction shall advance the flight in me.