Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, PREPARATORY MEDITATIONS, 2D SERIES: 5, by EDWARD TAYLOR


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

PREPARATORY MEDITATIONS, 2D SERIES: 5, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: Art thou, lord, abraham's seed, and isaac too?
Last Line: Twine round thy praise, plants sprung in true love's mines.
Subject(s): Puritans In Literature


Art thou, Lord, Abraham's Seed, and Isaac too?
His Promisd Seed? That One and Only Seed?
How can this bee? Paul certainly saith true.
But one Seed promised. Sir this Riddle read.
Christ is the Metall: Isaack is the Oar.
Christ is the Pearle, in Abraham's tread therefore.

Christ's Antitype Isaac his Type up spires
In many things, but Chiefly this because
This Isaac, and the Ram caught in the briars
One Sacrifice, fore shew by typick laws
Christs Person, all Divine, joynd whereto's made
Unperson'd Manhood, on the Altar's laid.

The full grown Ram, provided none knows how,
Typing Christ's Manhood, made by God alone
Caught in the brambles by the horns, must bow,
Under the Knife: The manhoods Death, and Groan.
Yet Isaac's leaping from the Altar's bed,
Foretold its glorious rising from the Dead.

But why did things run thus? For Sin indeed,
No lesser price than this could satisfy.
Oh costly Sin! this makes mine intraills bleed.
What fills my Shell, did make my Saviour die.
What Grace then's this of God, and Christ that stills
Out of this Offering into our tills?

Lord with thine Altars Fire, mine Inward man
Refine from dross: burn out my sinfull guise
And make my Soul thine Altars Drippen pan
To Catch the Drippen of thy Sacrifice.
This is the Unction thine receive; the which
Doth teach them all things of an happy pitch.

Thy Altars Fire burns not to ashes down
This Offering. But it doth roast it here.
This is thy Roastmeate cooked up sweet, brown,
Upon thy table set for Souls good cheer.
The Drippen, and the meate are royall fair
That fatten Souls, that with it welcomd are.

My Trencher, Lord, with thy Roast Mutton dress:
And my dry Bisket in thy Dripping Sap.
And feed my Soul with thy Choice Angell Mess:
My heart thy Praise, Will, tweedling Larklike tap.
My florid notes, like Tenderills of Vines
Twine round thy Praise, plants sprung in true Love's Mines.





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