Classic and Contemporary Poetry
PREPARATORY MEDITATIONS, 2D SERIES: 128, by EDWARD TAYLOR Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: My deare-deare lord, my heart is lodgd in thee Last Line: And sing thy glories praise in glories glee. Subject(s): Puritans In Literature | ||||||||
My Deare-Deare Lord, my Heart is Lodgd in thee: Thy Person lodgd in bright Divinity And waring Cloaths made of the best web bee Wove in the golde Loom of Humanity. All lin'de and overlaide with Wealthi'st lace The finest Silke of Sanctifying Grace. Hence ev'ry minim of thy Humane Frame. Deckt up with Nature's brave perfections right, And Decorated with rich Grace, Whose Flame In Sparkling Shines do ravish with delight So that thy Nature, and its Acts all shine And never miss the Right an Haire breadth fine. Thy Soule Divine arrayde in Splendent Grace, The Spirituall Temple pinckt with precious Stones: Like Sparks of Glory glaze thy Spirits Face And glorious make thy Will with graces tones. Not one black tittle ere is in it found To dim the Shine that in it doth abound. Thy Soules a Spirituall Treasury, in Which Are Precious Stones and Spirituall Jewells laid The Spirits Spicery the gold mine rich Of Precious Grace. And Graces Sugar Trade, The Warehouse of all Humane thoughts well Wrought In which there never came an Evill thought. Thy Eares and Nose ware Graces Jewells bright. Thy Sight walks out in Graces Paradise: Thy Smell is Courted with perfum'de delight. Thy Garden Flowers breath sweeter breath than Spice: But if the Serpent on these objects spit Sighs from thy Soul blow hence the venom quick. Thy Feet o're burnished with glorious Grace Make all right Steps and not one strey awry Leave Every foot step guilt with grace, a trace And golden track unto Celestial Joy. Thy Tongue's tipt with sweet Heavenly Rhetorick Ne're spake amiss. Grace from thy lips doth skip. Thy Hands, milk white, were never yet beguil'd In Graces Almond milke washt ware no Spot. Thy fingers never toucht what Sin defilde. Grace at thy fingers ends doth ever drop. Thy Head's a golden Pot of Manna fine A Silver Tower of Gospell Weapons Prime. Oh! what a glorious Lord have I? See here When in the Gospell Glass his Beams dart on The Bride's twelve bridemaids looking on him cleare And make them ask, Where, Whither is he gone? Oh! Whither's thy Beloved bright declinde Declare, thou fairest of All Woman kinde. Our heart is ravisht with his glory bright. Oh! Whither Whither is he turned aside? Wee now indeed do greatly wish we might Him seeke with thee, His Spouse and blessed Bride! That happiness lodg'd in his Glorious face Will thence when seen slide int'our Hearts with Grace. Lord, let thy Glorious Excellencies flame Fall through thy Gospells Looking Glass with might, Upon my frozen heart, and thaw the Same And it inflame with flaming Love most Light That in this flame my heart may ride to thee, And sing thy Glories Praise in Glories glee. | 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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