Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, PREPARATORY MEDITATIONS, 2D SERIES: 22, by EDWARD TAYLOR


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

PREPARATORY MEDITATIONS, 2D SERIES: 22, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: I from the new moon of the first month high
Last Line: Will as I reap sing thee my harvest joy.
Subject(s): Feasts; Passover; Puritans In Literature


I from the New Moon of the first month high
Unto its fourteenth day When she is Full
Of Light the Which the Shining Sun let fly
And when the Sun's all black to see Sins pull
The Sun of Righteousness from Heaven down
Into the Grave and weare a Pascall Crown.

A Bond Slave in Egyptick Slavery
This Noble Stem, Angellick Bud, this Seed
Of Heavenly Birth, my Soul, doth groaning ly.
When shall its Passo're come? When shall't be Freed?
The Lamb is slaine upon the fourteenth day
Of Month the first, my Doore posts do display.

Send out thy Slaughter Angell, Lord, and slay
All my Enslaving 'Gypsies Sins, while I
Eate this rost Mutten, Paschall Lamb, Display
Thy Grace herein, while I from Egypt high.
I'le feed upon thy Roast meat here updresst,
With Bitter hearbs, unleaven'd bread the best.

I'le banish Leaven from my very Soule
And from its Leanetoe tent: and search out all
With Candles lest a Crum thereof should rowle
Into its Corners or in mouseholes fall,
Which when I finde I'le burn up, and will sweep
From every Corner all, and all cleane keep.

My Bunch of Hyssop, Faith, dipt in thy blood
My Paschall Lamb, held in thy Bason bright
Baptize my Doore Posts shall, make Crimson good.
Let nothing off this Varnish from them wipe,
And while they weare thy Crimson painted dy,
No Slaughter Angell shall mine house annoy.

Lord, purge my Leaven out: my Tast make quick:
My Souls strong Posts baptize with this rich blood
By bunch of Hyssop, then I'le also lick
Thy Dripping Pan: and eat thy Roast Lamb good,
With Staff in hand, Loins Girt, and Feet well shod
With Gospell ware as walking to my God.

I'le Goshen's Ramesis now leave apace.
Thy Flag I'le follow to thy Succoth tent.
Thy sprinkled blood being my lintells grace
Thy Flesh my Food With bitter herbs attent
To minde me of my bitter bondage State
And my Deliverance from all such fate.

I'le at this Feast my First Sheafe bring, and Wave
Before thee, Lord, my Crop to sanctify
That in my first Fruits I my harvest have
May blest unto my Cyckle Constantly.
So at this Feast my harp shall Tunes advance
Upon thy Lamb, and my Deliverance.

But now I from the Passover do pass.
Easter farewell, rich jewells thou did shew,
And come to Whitsuntide; and turn the Glass
To search her Sands for pearles therein anew.
For Isra'l a fift'th day from Egypt broke,
Gave Sinai's Law, and Crown'd the mount with Smoke.

And Christ oure Passover had not passt o're
Full fifty dayes before in fiery guise
He gave Mount Zions Law from graces store.
The Gospell Law of Spirit and Life out highs
In fiery Tongues that did confound all those
At Pentecost that Zions King oppose.

The Harvest of the year through Grace now inn'd,
Enjoyd and Consecrated with Right praise,
All typefying that the right we sind
Away's restor'd by Christ: and all things raisd
Fit for our use, and that we thankfully
Unto the use thereof ourselves should ply.

Lord make me to the Pentecost repare,
Make me thy Guest too at this Feast, and live
Up to thy Gospell Law: and let my fare
Be of the two white Loaves this feast doth give.
If Prophets Seeding yield me harvest, I
Will as I reap sing thee my harvest joy.





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