Lord, Who createdst man in wealth and store, 1
Though foolishly he lost the same,
Decaying more and more,
Till he became
Most poore: 5
With Thee
O let me rise,
As larks, harmoniously,
And sing this day Thy victories:
Then shall the fall further the flight in me. 10
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; 18
For, if I imp my wing on Thine, 19
Affliction shall advance the flight in me.