Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, PREPARATORY MEDITATIONS, 2D SERIES: 105, by EDWARD TAYLOR


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

PREPARATORY MEDITATIONS, 2D SERIES: 105, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: If I was all well melted down, refinde
Last Line: To glory, then I'l sing a brighter song.
Subject(s): Puritans In Literature


If I was all well melted down, refinde
In graces Furnace and run in the mould
Of bright bright Glory, that with Glory shinde
More bright than glory doth, my Lord I would
Crown thee therewith thou shouldst have all, except
The dross I in refining did eject.

Hast thou unto thy Godhead nature tooke
My nature and unto that nature joyn'de
Making a Union thereby, whose root
Too deep's for reasons delving toole to finde,
Which is held out thus by thy Taking Bread,
In this sweet Feast in which our Souls are fed?

This Union, that it is, were clearely see
But se not How, or What it is; although
We stande and gaze on't, at't amazed bee.
But Why it is Grace graciously doth show.
These natures thus United have (as't shown)
Each done by each, what neither could alone.

The Reason of it Grace declares, whose hand
This Union made; its made (and thinke hereon)
That so our Nature Cansell might that Bande.
She'd forfeited, and Justice sude upon.
For natures Purse could not the Fine defray.
Hence she had Gold from Godheads Mint to pay.

This Mystery more rich than massy gold
Our Lord lapt up in a Choice napkin fine
Of Heavenly trade an Ordinance that hold
The same out doth to us all sweet, Divine,
That this might live, he in his Dying night
Portraide it on his Supper last, as light.

To shew that he our nature took, he then
Tooke breade, and wine best Elementall trade,
Designed as the Sign thereof. Which when
He had his blessing over it display'de
To shew his Consecration, then it brake,
To signify his Sufferings for our sake.

Hence in this Bread, and Wine thou dost present
Thyselfe, my Lord, Celestiall Food indeed,
Rich spirituall fare Soul-Food, Faiths nourishment,
And such as doth all Saving Graces feed.
For which an Heavenfull of thanks, all free,
Is not too much my Lord to render thee.

Yet my poore Pipe can hardly stut a tune
Above an hungry thanks unto thy name
For all this grace, My Lord, My heart perfume
With greater measures, till thy Grace out flame
And leade mee on in Graces path along
To Glory, then I'l sing a brighter song.





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