Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, PREPARATORY MEDITATIONS, 1ST SERIES: 42, by EDWARD TAYLOR


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

PREPARATORY MEDITATIONS, 1ST SERIES: 42, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: Apples of gold, in silver pictures shrined
Last Line: Thy throne, to thee the rent in happiness.
Subject(s): Puritans In Literature


Apples of gold, in silver pictures shrin'de
Enchant the appetite, make mouths to water.
And Loveliness in Lumps, tunn'd, and enrin'de
In Jasper Cask, when tapt, doth briskly vaper:
Brings forth a birth of Keyes t'unlock Loves Chest,
That Love, like Birds, may fly to't from its nest.

Such is my Lord, and more. But what strang thing
Am I become? Sin rusts my Lock all o're.
Though he ten thousand Keyes all on a string
Takes out, scarce one, is found, unlocks the Doore.
Which ope, my Love crincht in a Corner lies
Like some shrunck Crickling: and scarce can rise.

Lord ope the Doore: rub off my Rust, Remove
My sin, And Oyle my Lock. (Dust there doth shelfe).
My Wards will trig before thy Key: my Love
Then, as enliven'd, leape will on thyselve.
It needs must be, that giving handes receive
Again Receivers Hearts furld in Love Wreath.

Unkey my Heart; unlock thy Wardrobe: bring
Out royall Robes: adorne my Soule, Lord: so,
My Love in rich attire shall on my King
Attend, and honour on him well bestow.
In Glory he prepares for his a place
Whom he doth all beglory here with grace.

He takes them to the shining threashould cleare
Of his bright Palace, cloath'd in Grace's flame.
Then takes them in thereto, not onely there
To have a Prospect, but possess the same.
The Crown of Life, the Throne of Glorys Place,
The Fathers House blancht o're with orient Grace.

Can'an in golden print enwalld with jems:
A Kingdome rim'd with Glory round: in fine
A glorious Crown pal'de thick with all the stems
Of Grace, and of all Properties Divine.
How happy wilt thou make mee when these shall
As a bless't Heritage unto mee fall?

Adorn me, Lord, with Holy Huswifry.
All blanch my Robes with Clusters of thy Graces:
Thus lead me to thy threashold: give mine Eye
A Peephole there to see bright glories Chases.
Then take mee in: I'le pay, when I possess,
Thy Throne, to thee the Rent in Happiness.





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