Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, GOD'S DETERMINATIONS: THE SOUL ACCUSED IN ITS SERVING GOD, by EDWARD TAYLOR


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

GOD'S DETERMINATIONS: THE SOUL ACCUSED IN ITS SERVING GOD, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: When thou dost go to serve thy god, behold
Last Line: Against thee drawn, who makes my heart his throne.
Subject(s): Puritans In Literature


When thou dost go to serve thy God, behold
What greate Distractions do thy Soule infold?
How thy Religious Worship's much abusde?
And with Confusion greate thy Soul's amus'de?
What thoughts to God on Errand dost thou send
That have not Sin therein, or in the End?
In Holy-Waters I delight to fish
For then I mudd them, or attain a Dish,
Of Holy things. I oft have Chiefest part,
And Cutting: nay do Carve the fat, and heart.
For in Gods worship still thy heart doth cling
Unto and follows toyish Earthly things.
And what thou offer'st God his Holy Eye
Sees, is an Offering of Hypocrisy.
And if thou saw'st no hell, nor heaven; I see,
My Soule for thine, thy Soule and mine agree.
What then's thy Love to God, and Piety?
Is it not selfish? And Comes in by th'by?
For selfe is all thine aim; not God thine end:
And what Delight hath he in such a friend?
Lip Love is little else, but such a ly,
As makes the matter but Hypocrisy.

What's thy Repentance? Can'st thou come and show
By those salt Rivers which do Ebb, and Flow
By th'motion of that Ocean Vast within,
Of pickled sorrow rising for thy Sin?
For Sin prooves very Costly unto all.
It Cost Saint Peter bitter tears, and Paul.
Thy joy is groundless, Faith is false, thy Hope
Presumption, and Desire is almost broke.
Zeale Wildfire is, thy Pray'res are sapless most,
Or like the Whistling of some Dead mans Ghost:
Thy Holy Conference is onely like
An Empty Voice that tooteth through a pipe.
Thy Soule doth peep out at thine Eares, and Eyes
To bless those bawbles that are earthly toyes.
But when Gods Words in at those Windows peepe
To kiss thy Soul, thy Soul lies dead asleep.
Examine but thy Conscience, her reply,
Will suite hereto: For Conscience dare not ly.
When did thine Eyes run down for sin as sin,
That thus thy heart runs up with joy to sing?
Thy sins do sculk under a flowrisht paint.
Hence thou a Sinner art, or I a Saint.

SOUL

Well, Satan, well: with thee I'le parle no more.
But do adjure thee hence: begone therefore.
If I as yet was thine, I thus do say
I from thy flag would quickly flag away.
Begone therefore; to him I'le send a groane
Against thee drawn, who makes my heart his Throne.





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