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...REBEL COLOR-BEARERS AT SHILOH by HERMAN MELVILLE CLANCY OF THE MOUNTED POLICE by ROBERT WILLIAM SERVICE THE NEW YEAR by ALFRED TENNYSON THE SEVEN AGAINST THEBES: NEWS OF WAR by AESCHYLUS ON A YOUNG BRIDE DROWNED IN THE BOSPHORUS by AGATHIAS SCHOLASTICUS |