Lord, who createdst man in wealth and store,
    Though foolishly he lost the same,
    Decaying more and more,
    Till he became
5   Most poor.
    With thee
    O let me rise
    As larks, harmoniously,
    And sing this day thy victories;
10   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
15   Most thin.
    With thee
    Let me combine
    And feel this day thy victory;
    For, if I imp my wing on thine,
20   Affliction shall advance the flight in me.