Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, PREPARATORY MEDITATIONS, 2D SERIES: 73, by EDWARD TAYLOR


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

PREPARATORY MEDITATIONS, 2D SERIES: 73, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: Glory! Oh glory! Wonderfull, and more
Last Line: On my shoshanims tun'd on ev'ry string.
Subject(s): Puritans In Literature


Glory! oh Glory! Wonderfull, and more.
How dost thou Croude with all thy Ranks most bright?
Thou never playdst such Glorious Cast, before
Nor ever wor'st such flourishing delight.
Thy heart doth leape for joy, to have the gain
When thou Receivdst my Lord in Glories Flame.

Who can the Ranks of Glory ere relate,
As they stand up in Honours Palace Hall?
They sparkle Flashing spangles, golden flakes
Of burnisht shines, with lowly Conjues all
To kisse thy hand, my Lord, and hande thee in
To tend thee and attend thee, her head spring.

Glory was never glorifide so much,
She ne're receiv'd such glory heretofore.
As that that doth Embrace her, (it is such,)
As she unto my Lord, doth ope her doore.
When he receivd was into glory's Sphere
Glory then found her glory brightest were.

When unto Angell's Glory opens doore,
Or unto Saints, all to be glorifi'de,
She well bestows herselfe, t'enriche her Store:
Yet blushes much to eye thy Glories tide.
When she doth make herselfe thy Cloaths to bee,
She's cloathd with brighter glory far by thee.

The greatest glory glory doth enjoy,
Lies in her hanging upon thee Wherein
Glory that glorifies thee mightily,
Is far more glorifide. Hence Glories spring.
Now Graces Glory, Heavens Glory, and
Gloryes of Saints, and Angells, guild thy hand.

A Glorious Palace, a Bright Crown of Glory
A glorious train of Saints, and Angells Shine
And glorious exercise as sweetest posy,
Do sacrifice themselves unto thy Shrine.
They give their all to thee. And so receive
Therein from thee a much more brighter Wreath.

Let some, my Lord, of thy bright Glories beams,
Flash quickening Flames of Glory in mine eye
T'enquicken my dull Spirits, drunke with dreams
Of Melancholy juyce that stupify.
A Coale from thy bright Altars Glory sure
Kissing my lips, my Lethargy will Cure.

If Envy ere by Sanctifying Skill
Could gracious be, or be a Grace, I would
I could it on my Spirits Cold and Chill
Well Exercise, that Love thus ever should
Ly lockt by Melancholy's key up in my Heart.
And hardly smile when Glories beautyes dart.

Lord make thy beams my frost bit heart to warm.
Ride on these Rayes into my bosom's chill
And make thy Glory mine affections Charm.
Thy rapid flames my Love enquicken will.
Then I in Glories Tower thy Praise will sing
On my Shoshanims tun'd on ev'ry String.





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