Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, PREPARATORY MEDITATIONS, 2D SERIES: 157 (B), by EDWARD TAYLOR


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

PREPARATORY MEDITATIONS, 2D SERIES: 157 (B), by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: How blest am I having so blesst a lord
Last Line: All heaven ore sweet praise on ery string.
Subject(s): Puritans In Literature


How Blest am I having so blesst a Lord
If I improve in blessedness a right
He loves me so that he doth mee afford
A Banquet such that none can make the like.
Its not a single meate but certainly
It life mentains and that eternally.

The sweetest dainties that were ever disht
On any Table by Best Cookery
In Heavens made. Its Mannah true, a feast
The holy Angells with your praises joy
That in the golden Pot kept in the Arke
Was but black smoke to this of Graces Art.

Ground in Gods mill in heaven, finest floure
Made into Pasty Paste, the Holy * * *
Filld with the Paschall Mutton, spice on it showers
Bakt in the Backhouse of Free Graces Craft,
Serv'd up in Gospell Chargers pure and bright
By shining Angells, waiting all in White.

This Grist of Mannah ground in Gods sweet mill
When bolted in Christ's pure fine Tiffiny
And drest in various Dishes by's Cook's skill
In glorious shine at the Epiphany,
That of the Mannahs wheat's mere grudgens bakt
But this Christs Banquet's all of Sugar Cake.

This Meate and Drink is best ten thousand fold
Of th'Paschall Mutton the fattest of the Flock
Cookt up by Grace in Chargers all of Gold.
This Banquits Fare, it's Christ himself, the Rock
Is Wisdoms rost meat rost in graces sops
Whose Dripping, Saints their bisket in't do sop.

The sweetest dainties cookt most graciously
Is truly * * * spiced Mess
And tis the Holy Ghost sweet * * *
This is the Banquets * * * Christ * * *
The liquour at this table's juyce of the Vine
Far richer spirit than the Cana wine.

This Drinke here drunk is Zions water red
It is the Blood of the Grape that * * *
In Gods sweet Vineyard on that noblest * * *
The true true Vine; from this press grape * * *
What wine is this? it's bled out of Christ's side
Tapt by the speare, Doth always best abide.

Oh! what a banquets here? Saints are its Guests,
Angells the servitors * * * all on th' Best
The Holy Ghosts spice seasons every * * *
And by the King of Glory it is blesst
All things hereof super superlative
All graces in the Guests hereby much make.

Hence banquet me my Lord here mongst thy Feast
And load my Trencher with his choicest Fare
And let my golden Beker too at least
Be blesst with thy blest Wine beyond Compare
And then my Violl shall this * * * wing
All Heaven ore sweet praise on ery string.





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