I love this poem. Its called Easter Wings

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 lark, harmoniously

And sing this day thy victories:

Then shall the fall further the flight in me.

My tender age in sorrow did beginne:

And still with sickness and shame

Though didst 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.

~George Herbert