Continuing to celebrate the end of the season as the day approaches where we mark the Ascension with a poem by George Herbert, my favorite seventeenth century man. May you find your greatest joy in flying upon the wing of His victory this day and all the days ever, my friends.
Lord, who createdst man in wealth and store,
Though foolishly he lost the same
Decaying more and more
Till he became
O, let me rise
As larks, harmoniously,
And sing this day Thy victories:
Then shall the fall further flight in me.
My tender age in sorrow did begin:
And still with sickness and shame
Thou didst so punish sin
That I became
Let me combine,
And feel this day Thy victory;
For if I imp my wing on Thine,
Affliction shall advance the flight in me.
*imp=a falconry term meaning to mend a damaged wing of a hawk by grafting to it feathers from another bird. (source: Warnke and Witherspoon)