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 0 Comments: |
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