Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, PREPARATORY MEDITATIONS, 1ST SERIES: 29, by EDWARD TAYLOR



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PREPARATORY MEDITATIONS, 1ST SERIES: 29, by             Poet's Biography
First Line: My shattred phancy stole away from mee
Last Line: Thy glory then I'le make my fruits and crop.
Subject(s): Puritans In Literature


My shattred Phancy stole away from me,
(Wits run a Wooling over Edens Parke)
And in Gods Garden saw a golden Tree.
Whose Heart was All Divine, and gold its barke:
Whose glorious limbs and fruitfull branches strong
With Saints, and Angells bright are richly hung.

Thou! Thou! my Deare-Deare Lord, art this rich Tree:
The Tree of Life within Gods Paradise.
I am a Withred Twig, dri'de, fit to bee
A Chat Cast in thy fire, writh off by Vice.
Yet if thy Milkwhite Gracious Hand will take mee,
And grafft mee in this golden stock, thou'lt make mee.

Thou'lt make me then its Fruite and Branch to spring.
And though a nipping Eastwinde blow, and all
Hells Nymphs with spite their Dog's sticks thereat ding
To Dash the Grafft off, and its fruit to fall,
Yet I shall stand thy Grafft, and Fruits that are
Fruits of the Tree of Life thy Grafft shall beare.

I being grafft in thee, there up do stand
In us Relations all that mutuall are.
I am thy Patient, Pupill, Servant, and
Thy Sister, Mother, Doove, Spouse, Son, and Heire:
Thou art my Priest, Physician, Prophet, King,
Lord, Brother, Bridegroom, Father, Ev'rything.

I being grafft in thee am graffted here
Into thy Family and kindred Claim
To all in Heaven: God, Saints, and Angells there.
I thy Relations my Relations name.
Thy Father's mine, thy God my God, and I
With Saints and Angells draw Affinity.

My Lord, what is it that thou dost bestow?
The Praise on this account fills up and throngs
Eternity brimfull, doth overflow
The Heavens vast with rich Angelick Songs.
How should I blush? how Tremble at this thing,
Not having yet my gamut, learn'd to sing.

But, Lord, as burnish's Sun Beams forth out fly,
Let Angell-Shine forth in my life out flame,
That I may grace thy gracefull Family,
And not to thy Relations be a Shame.
Make mee thy Grafft, be thou my Golden Stock:
Thy Glory then I'le make my fruits and Crop.






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