Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, GOD'S DETERMINATIONS: DOUBTS FROM THE WANT OF GRACE ANSWERED, by EDWARD TAYLOR


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

GOD'S DETERMINATIONS: DOUBTS FROM THE WANT OF GRACE ANSWERED, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: Such as are gracious grow in grace therefore
Last Line: Not drown you in't, nor cast a drop away.
Subject(s): Puritans In Literature


SOUL

Such as are Gracious grow in Grace therefore
Such as have Grace, are Gracious evermore.
Who sin Commit are sinfull: and thereby
They grow Ungodly. So I feare do I.

SAINT

Such as are Gracious, Graces have therefore
They evermore desire to have more.
But such as never knew this dainty fare
Do never wish them 'cause they dainties are.

SOUL

Alas! alas! this still doth me benight.
I've no desire, or no Desire aright.
And this is Clear: my Hopes do witherd ly,
Before their buds breake out, their blossoms dy.

SAINT

When fruits do thrive, the blossom falls off quite.
No need of blossoms when the seed is ripe.
The Apple plainly prooves the blossoms were.
Thy withred Hopes hold out Desires as Cleare.

SOUL

Alas! my Hopes seem but like blasted fruit.
Dead on the Stoole before it leaves its root.
For if it lively were a growth it hath,
And would be grown e're this to Saving Faith.

SAINT

* * * * * * * * * * * * * I'le make most plain
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Which lively is, layes hold on Christ too, though
Thou deemst it doth like blasted blossoms show.

SOUL

If it was so, then Certainly I should,
With Faith Repentance have. But, oh! behold,
This Grace leaves not in mee a single print.
Mine Eyes are Adamant, my Heart is Flint.

SAINT

Repentance is not argued so from Tears.
As from the Change that in the Soul appears.
And Faith Ruld by the Word. Hence ever spare
To mete Repentance out by Satans square.

SOUL

I fear Repentance is not Genuine.
Its Feare that makes me from my sins decline.
And if it was, I should delight much more,
To bathe in all Gods Ordinances pure.

SAINT

And dost thou not? Poore Soule, thou dost I know.
Why else dost thou Relent, and sorrow so?
But Satan doth molest thee much to fling
Thee from thy Dutie into e'ry Sin.

SOUL

If these were my Delight, I should Embrace
The royall Retinue of Saving Grace,
Peace, Patience Pray're, Meekness, Humility,
Love, Temp'rance, Feare, Syncerety, and Joy.

SAINT

You do: though not alike at all times sure,
And you do much desire to have more.
I wonder that you judge them worth the having,
Or Crave them, if they are not got by Craving.

SOUL

My measure is so small, I doubt, alas!
Its next to none, and will for nothing pass.
But if I had but this or that Degree,
Of all these Graces, then thrice Happy mee!

SAINT

You have not what you Would, and therefore will
Not own you have at all. What Sullen still?
If God should fill you, and not work your bane,
You would not be Content, but would Complain.

SOUL

What must my vessell voide of Grace be thrust
By you in Glory thus among the Just
As Gracious though the Dose of Grace I finde
Is scarce a Grain? Can this Content your minde?

SAINT

God, and His All, 's the Object of the Will:
All God alone can onely it up fill.
He'd kill the Willer, if his Will he should
Fill to the brim, while Cabbined in mould.
What Mortall can contain immortall bliss;
If it be poured on him as it is?
A single Beam thus touching him Would make
The stoutest mortall man to ashes shake.
Will nothing give Content unless you have
While here a mortall, all your Will can Crave?
If so, the Promise which is made to those
That hunger after Righteousness you'l lose.
For being full, you could not hunger still
Nor Wish for more you having once your Will.
You cant contain Halfe, what in truth you would
Or do not Wish for Halfe of what you should.
Can't all the sea o'refill an Acorn bole?
Can't God orefill a little Whimpring Soul?
What Can a Nutshell all the World Enfold?
Or can thy Heart all Heavens Glory Hold?
And never break? What! Canst thou here below
Weld Heavens bliss while mortall thus? Oh! No.
God Loves you better than to grant your Cry,
When you do Cry for that which will destroy.
Give but a Child a Knife to still his Din:
He'l cut his Fingers with it ere he blin.

SOUL

Had I but any Sparke of Grace, I might
Have much more than I have with much delight.
How can I trust to you? You do not know
Whether I have a Grain of Grace, or no.

SAINT

You think you might have more: you shall have so,
But if you'd all at once, you could not grow.
And if you could not grow, you'd grieving fall.
All would not then Content you, had you all.
Should Graces Floodgate thus at once breake down
You most would lose, or else it would you drown.
He'l fill you but by drops that so he may
Not drown you in't, nor Cast a Drop away.





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