Lord, who createdst man in wealth and store, Though foolishly he lost the same, Decaying more and more Till he became Most poor: 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 begin: And still with sicknesses and shame Thou didst so punish sin, That I became Most thin. With thee Let me combine, And feel this day thy victory; For if I imp my wing on thine, Affliction shall advance the flight in me. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...STRANGE MEETING by WILFRED OWEN SONNET: 57 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE AMERICA by SAMUEL FRANCIS SMITH THE MORAL FABLES: THE FOX, THE WOLF, AND THE CADGER by AESOP REALISM by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH THE GRASS STEALERS by J. MURRAY ALLISON SEEING HIS OWN PICTURE by PHILIP AYRES |