Monday, 21 April 2014

Poetry Revisited: Easter Wings

(from The Temple: 1633)

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

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