Classic and Contemporary Poetry
A FUNERAL POEM UPON THE DEATH OF MY EVER ENDEARED AND TENDER WIFE, by EDWARD TAYLOR Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: My gracious lord, I licence of thee crave Last Line: Much in her thoughts, and yet she fear'd not death. Subject(s): Death; Funerals; Marriage; Mourning; Puritans In Literature; Dead, The; Burials; Weddings; Husbands; Wives; Bereavement | ||||||||
PART. 1. My Gracious Lord, I Licence of thee Crave, Not to repine but drop upon the Grave Of my Deare Wife a Teare, or two: or wash Thy Milk White hand in tears that downward pass. Thou summond hast her Noble part away: And in Salt Tears I would Embalm her Clay. Some deem Death doth the True Love Knot unty: But I do finde it harder tide thereby. My heart is in't and will be squeez'd therefore To pieces if thou draw the Ends much more. Oh strange Untying! it ti'th harder: What? Can anything unty a True Love Knot? Five Babes thou tookst from me before this Stroake. Thine arrows then into my bowells broake, But now they pierce into my bosom smart, Do strike and stob me in the very heart. I'de then my bosom Friend a Comfort, and To Comfort: Yet my Lord, I kiss thy hand. I Her resign'd, thou tookst her into thine, Out of my bosom, yet she dwells in mine: And though her Precious Soule now swims in bliss, Yet while grim Death, that Dismall Sergeant is, Between the Parts Essentiall now remote, And hath this stately Tabernacle broke My Harp is turnd to mourning: Organ sweet Is turn'de into the Voice of them that weep. Griefe swelling girds the Heart Strings where its purst, Unless it Vent the Vessell sure will burst. My Gracious Lord, grant that my bitter Griefe Breath through this little Vent hole for reliefe. PART. 2. My Dear, Deare Love, reflect thou no such thing, Will Griefe permit you at my Grave to sing? Oh! Black Black Theme! The Girths of Griefe alone Do gird my heart till Gust of Sorrows groan And dash a mournfull Song to pieces on The Dolefull Face of thy Sepulcher Stone. My Onely DOVE, though Harp and Harrow, loe, Better agree than Songs and Sorrows doe, Yet spare me thus to drop a blubber'd Verse Out of my Weeping Eyes Upon thy Herse. What shall my Preface to our True Love Knot Frisk in Acrostick Rhimes? And may I not Now at our parting, with Poetick knocks Break a salt teare to pieces as it drops? Did Davids bitter Sorrow at the Dusts Of Jonathan raise such Poetick gusts? Do Emperours interr'd in Verses lie? And mayn't such Feet run from my Weeping Eye? Nay, Dutie lies upon mee much; and shall I in thy Coffin naile thy Vertues all? How shall thy Babes, and theirs, thy Vertuous shine Know, or Persue unless I them define? Thy Grace will Grace unto a Poem bee Although a Poem be no grace to thee. Impute it not a Crime then if I weep A Weeping Poem on thy Winding Sheet. Maybe some Angell may my Poem sing To thee in Glory, or relate the thing, Which if he do, my mournfull Poem may Advance thy Joy, and my Deep Sorrow lay. PART. 3. Your Ears, Bright Saints, and Angells: them I Choose To stough her Praises in: I'le not abuse. Her Modesty would blush should you profess, I in Hyperboles her praises dress. Wherefore as Cramping Griefe permitts to stut Them forth accept of such as here I put. Her Husbands Joy, Her Childrens Chiefe Content. Her Servants Eyes, Her Houses Ornament. Her Shine as Child, as Neighbour, flies abroad As Mistress, Mother, Wife, her Walke With God. As Child she was a Tender, Pious Bud Of Pious Parents, sprang of Pious Blood Two Grandsires, Gran'ams: one or two, she had A Father too and Mother, that englad The Gracious heart to thinke upon, they were Bright Pillars in Gods Temple shining cleare. Her Father, and her Mothers Father fix As shining Stars in Golden Candlesticks. She did Obedient, Tender, Meek Child prove The Object of her Fathers Eye, and Love. Her Mother being Dead, her heart would melt When she her Fathers looks not pleasant felt. His smile Would her enliven, Frown, down pull Hence she became his Child most Dutifull. As Neighbour, she was full of Neighbourhood Not Proud, or Strang; Grave, Courteous, ever good. Compassionate: but unto none was Soure. Her Fingers dropt with Myrrh, oft, to her power. As Mistress she order'd her Family With all Discretion, and most prudently In all things prompt: Dutie in this respect Would to the meanest in it not neglect. Ripe at her Fingers Ends, Would nothing flinch. She was a neate good Huswife every inch. Although her weakenesse made her let alone Things so to go, as made her fetch a groan. Remiss was not, nor yet severe unto Her Servants: but i'th' golden mean did goe. As Mother, Oh! What tender Mother She? Her bowells Boiled ore to them that bee Bits of her tender Bowells. She a share Of her affections ever made them ware. Yet never chose to trick them, nor herselfe In antick garbs; or Lavishness of Wealth. But was a Lover much of Comeliness: And with her Needle work would make their Dress. The Law of Life within her Lips she would Be dropping forth upon them as shee should. Foolishly fond she was not but would give Correction wisely, that their Soules might Live. As Wife, a Tender, Tender, Loving, Meet, Meeke, Patient, Humble, Modest, Faithfull, Sweet Endearing Help she was: Whose Chiefest Treasure Of Earthly things she held her Husbands pleasure. But if she spi'de displeasure in his face, Sorrow would spoile her own, and marr its grace. Dear Heart! She would his Joy, Peace, Honour, Name, Even as her very Life, seeke to mentain. And if an hasty word by chance dropt in: She would in secret sigh it or'e with him. She was not wedded unto him alone But had his joy, and sorrow as her own. She, where he chanc'd to miss, a Cover would lay Yet would in Secret fore him all Display In meekness of sweet wisdom, and by Art, As Certainly would winde into the heart. She laid her neck unto the Yoake he draws: And was his Faithfull Yoake Mate, in Christ's Cause. As to her walk with God, she did inherit The very Spirits of her Parents Spirit. She was no gaudy Christian, or gilt Weed: But was a Reall, Israelite indeed. When in her Fathers house God toucht her Heart, That Trembling Frame of Spirit, and that Smart, She then was under very, few did know: Whereof she somewhat to the Church did show. Repentance now's her Work: Sin poyson is: Faith, carries her to Christ as one of his. Fear Temples in her heart; Love flowers apace To God, Christ, Grace Saints, and the Means of Grace. She's much in Reading, Pray're, Selfe-Application Holds humbly up, a pious Conversation In which she makes profession * * * * * * * * Which unto Westfield Church she did disclose. Holy in Health; Patient in Sickness long. And very great. Yet gracious Speech doth throng: She oft had up, An Alwise God Doth this. And in a filiall way the Rod would kiss. When Pains were Sore, Justice can do no wrong, Nor Mercy Cruell be; became her Song. The Doomsday Verses much perfum'de her Breath, Much in her thoughts, and yet she fear'd not Death. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HUNGERFIELD by ROBINSON JEFFERS THE MOURNER by LOUISE MOREY BOWMAN HECUBA MOURNS by MARILYN NELSON THERE IS NO GOD BUT by AGHA SHAHID ALI IF I COULD MOURN LIKE A MOURNING DOVE by FRANK BIDART GOD'S DETERMINATIONS: CHRIST'S REPLY by EDWARD TAYLOR GOD'S DETERMINATIONS: THE JOY OF CHURCH FELLOWSHIP RIGHTLY ATTENDED by EDWARD TAYLOR |
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