My gracious Lord, I would thee glory doe: But finde my Garden over grown with weeds: My Soile is sandy; brambles o're it grow; My Stock is stunted; branch no good Fruits breeds. My Garden weed: Fatten my Soile, and prune My Stock, and make it with thy glory bloome. O Glorious One, the gloriou'st thought I thincke Of thee falls black as Inck upon thy Glory. The brightest Saints that rose, do Star like, pinck. Nay, Abrams Shine to thee's an Allegory, Or fleeting Sparke in th' Smoke, to typify Thee, and thy Glorious Selfe in mystery. Should all the Sparks in heaven, the Stars there dance A Galliard, Round about the Sun, and stay His Servants (while on Easter morn his prance Is o're, which old wives prate of) O brave Play. Thy glorious Saints thus boss thee round, which stand Holding thy glorious Types out in their hand. But can I thinck this Glory greate, its head Thrust in a pitchy cloude, should strangled ly Or tucking up its beams should go to bed Within the Grave, darke me to glorify? This Mighty thought my hearts too streight for, though I hold it by the hand, and let not goe. Then, my Blesst Lord, let not the Bondmaids type Take place in mee. But they blesst Promisd Seed. Distill they Spirit through thy royall Pipe Into my Soule, and so my Spirits feed, Then them, and me still into praises right Into thy Cup where I to swim delight. Though I desire so much, I can't o're doe. All that my Can contains, to nothing comes When summed up, it onely Cyphers grows Unless thou set thy Figures to my Sums. Lord set thy Figure 'fore them, greate, or small. To make them something, and I'l give thee all. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO MY NOSE by ALFRED HENRY FORRESTER A CAMEO by ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE ROBERT BURNS by WILLIAM ALEXANDER (1567-1640) EMBLEMS OF LOVE: 20. EVER PRESENT by PHILIP AYRES TO --, WITH ARTHUR AND ALBINA by MATILDA BARBARA BETHAM-EDWARDS THE BURGHERS OF CALAIS by EMILY A. BRADDOCK |