Classic and Contemporary Poetry
PREPARATORY MEDITATIONS, 2D SERIES: 110, by EDWARD TAYLOR Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: The angells sung a carole at thy birth Last Line: Burr'ing thy grave in thy sepulcher's reech. Subject(s): Puritans In Literature | ||||||||
The Angells sung a Carole at thy Birth, My Lord, and thou thyselfe didst sweetly sing An Epinicioum at thy Death, on Earth And order'st thine, in memory of this thing Thy Holy Supper, closing it at last Up with an Hymn, and Choakst the foe thou hast. This Feast thou madst in memory of thy death Which is disht up most graciously: and towers Of reeching vapours from thy Grave (Sweet breath) Aromatize the Skies. That sweetest Showers Richly perfumed by the Holy Ghost, Are rained thence upon the Churches Coast. Thy Grave beares flowers to dress thy Church withall. In which thou dost thy Table dress for thine. With Gospell Carpet, Chargers, Festivall And Spirituall Venison, White Bread and Wine Being the Fruits thy Grave brings forth and hands Upon thy Table where thou waiting standst. Dainties most rich, all spiced o're with Grace, That grow out of thy Grave do deck thy Table To entertain thy Guests, thou callst, and place Allowst, with welcome, (and this is no Fable) And with these Guests I am invited to't And this rich banquet makes me thus a Poet. Thy Cross planted within thy Coffin beares Sweet Blossoms and rich Fruits, Whose steams do rise Out of thy Sepulcher and purge the aire Of all Sins damps and fogs that Choake the Skies. This Fume perfumes Saints hearts as it out peeps Ascending up to bury thee in th'reechs. Joy stands on tiptoes all the while thy Guests Sit at thy Table, ready forth to sing Its Hallilujuhs in sweet musicks dress Waiting for Organs to imploy herein. Here matter is allowd to all, rich, high, My Lord, to tune thee Hymns melodiously. Oh! make my heart thy Pipe: the Holy Ghost The Breath that fills the same and Spiritually. Then play on mee thy pipe that is almost Worn out with piping tunes of Vanity. Winde musick is the best if thou delight To play the same thyselfe, upon my pipe. Hence make me, Lord, thy Golden Trumpet Choice And trumpet thou thyselfe upon the same Thy heart enravishing Hymns with Sweetest Voice. When thou thy Trumpet soundst, thy tunes will flame. My heart shall then sing forth thy praises sweet When sounded thus with thy Sepulcher reech. Make too my Soul thy Cittern, and its wyers Make my affections: and rub off their rust With thy bright Grace. And screw my Strings up higher And tune the same to tune thy praise most Just. Ile close thy Supper then with Hymns, most sweet Burr'ing thy Grave in thy Sepulcher's reech. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...GOD'S DETERMINATIONS: THE JOY OF CHURCH FELLOWSHIP RIGHTLY ATTENDED by EDWARD TAYLOR GOD'S DETERMINATIONS: THE PREFACE by EDWARD TAYLOR PREPARATORY MEDITATIONS, 1ST SERIES: 1 by EDWARD TAYLOR PREPARATORY MEDITATIONS, 1ST SERIES: 32 by EDWARD TAYLOR PREPARATORY MEDITATIONS, 1ST SERIES: 38 by EDWARD TAYLOR PREPARATORY MEDITATIONS, 1ST SERIES: 8 by EDWARD TAYLOR PREPARATORY MEDITATIONS, 2D SERIES: 3 by EDWARD TAYLOR PREPARATORY MEDITATIONS, 2D SERIES: 56 by EDWARD TAYLOR GOD'S DETERMINATIONS: CHRIST'S REPLY by EDWARD TAYLOR GOD'S DETERMINATIONS: THE JOY OF CHURCH FELLOWSHIP RIGHTLY ATTENDED by EDWARD TAYLOR |
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