Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, PREPAPATORY MEDITATIONS, 1ST SERIES: 43, by EDWARD TAYLOR


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

PREPAPATORY MEDITATIONS, 1ST SERIES: 43, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: Fain I would sing thy praise, but feare I feign
Last Line: Accept this lisp till I am glorifide.
Subject(s): Puritans In Literature


Fain I would sing thy Praise, but feare I feign.
My Sin doth keepe out of my heart thy Feare,
Damps Love: defiles my Soule. Old Blots new stain.
Hopes hoppled lie, and rusty Chains worn cleare.
My Sins that make me stand in need of thee,
Do keep me back to hugge all Sin I see.

Nature's Corrupt, a nest of Passion, Pride,
Lust, Worldliness, and such like bubs: I pray,
But struggling finde, these bow my Heart aside.
A Knot of Imps at barly breaks in't play.
They do inchant me from my Lord, I finde,
The thoughts whereof proove Daggers in my minde.

Pardon, and Poyson them, Lord, with thy Blood.
Cast their Curst Karkasses out of my Heart.
My Heart fill with thy Love: let Grace it dub.
Make this my Silver Studs by thy rich art.
My Soule shall then be thy sweet Paradise.
Thou'st be its Rose, and it thy Bed of Spice.

Why mayn't my Faith now drinke thy Health, Lord, ore,
The Head of all my Sins? And Cast her Eye,
In glorifying glances, on the Doore
Of thy Free Grace, where Crowns of Life do lie?
Thou'lt give a Crown of Life to such as bee
Faithfull to Death. And shall Faith faile in mee?

A Crown of Life, of Glory, Righteousness,
Thou wilt adorn them with, that will not fade.
Shall Faith in mee shrinke up for Feebleness?
Nor take my Sins by th'Crown, till Crownless made?
Breath, Lord, thy Spirit on my Faith, that I
May have thy Crown of Life, and Sin may dy.

How Spirituall? Holy shall I shine, when I
Thy Crown of Righteousness ware on my Head?
How Glorious when thou dost me glorify
To ware thy Crown of Glory pollished?
How shall I when thy Crown of Life I ware
In lively Colours flowrish, fresh, and fair?

When thou shalt Crown me with these Crowns I'l bend
My Shallow Crown to crown with Songs thy Name.
Angels shall set the tune, I'le it attend:
Thy Glory'st be the burden of the same.
Till then I cannot sing, my tongue is tide.
Accept this Lisp till I am glorifide.





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