Notes from a small island
A weblog by Jonathan Ali

Sunday, April 20, 2003  

Lord, who created man in wealth and store,
Though foolish 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 victories:
Then shall 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 this day thy victorie:
For if I imp my wing on thine,
Affliction shall advance the flight in me.

- My Easter morning offering, "Easter-wings" by George Herbert. (The lines were originally typed centred and printed vertically to represent wings on the page.)

posted by Jonathan | 9:37 AM 0 comments


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