| | 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. |
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| | 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. |
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