Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, PREPARATORY MEDITATIONS, 2D SERIES: 17, by EDWARD TAYLOR

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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

PREPARATORY MEDITATIONS, 2D SERIES: 17, by             Poet's Biography
First Line: Thou great supreme, thou infinite first one
Last Line: Unto thy praise upon my harp within.
Subject(s): Puritans In Literature

Thou Greate Supream, thou Infinite first One:
Thy Being Being gave to all that be
Yea to the best of Beings thee alone
To serve with Service best for best of fee.
But man the best servd thee the Worst of all
And so the Worst of incomes on him falls.

Hence I who'me Capable to serve thee best
Of all the ranks of Beings here below
And best of Wages win, have been a pest
And done the Worst, earn'd thus the Worst of Woe.
Sin that imploys mee findes mee worke indeed
Me qualifies, ill qualities doth breed.

This is an hell indeed thus to be held
From that which nature holdst her chiefe delights
To that that is her horrour and refelld
Ev'n by the Law God in her Essence writes.
But for reliefe Grace in her tender would
Massiah cast all Sacrifices told.

I sin'd. Christ, bailes. Grace takes him Surety,
Translates my Sin upon his sinless Shine.
He's guilty thus, and Justice thus doth eye
And sues the band, and brings on him the fine.
All Sacrifices burn but yet their blood
Can't quench the fire, When laid upon the Wood.

The type thy Veane phlebotomizd must bee
To quench this Fire: no other blood nor thing
Can do't. Hence thou alone art made for mee
Burnt, Meat, Peace Sin, and Trespass Offering.
Thy blood must fall: thy life must go or I
Under the Wrath of God must ever fry.

This fire upon thee burnt, and is allay'd
For all of thine. Oh make mee thine I pray.
So shall this Wrath from mee be retrograde.
No fire shall sindge my rags nor on them stay.
New qualify mee. I shall then on go
Anew about thy Service, and it do.

What Grace in God? What Love in Christ thus spring
Up unto men, and to my poore poore heart?
That so thy burning fire no Sparke can fling
Or sparkle on such Tinder, This impart
Unto thy Servant. This will be my Health:
And for a gift to thee I send myselfe.

Oh! that my Love, was rowld all ore and ore
In thine, and Candi'd in't, and so refin'd
More bright than gold, and grown in bulke, far more
Than tongue can tell of each best sort, and kind.
All should be thine, and I thine own will be.
Accept my gift, no better is with mee.

Then own thine own. Be thou my Sacrifice,
Thy Father too, that he may father mee,
And I may be his Child, and thy blood prize,
That thy attonement may my clearing bee.
In hope of Which I in thy Service sing
Unto thy Praise upon my Harp within.

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