Full Lyrics
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, O let me rise
As larks, harmoniously,
and sing this day thy victorie:
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 thy victory:
for, if I imp my wing on thine,
Affliction shall advance the flight in me.
