Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, PREPARATORY MEDITATIONS, 2D SERIES: 6, by EDWARD TAYLOR



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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

PREPARATORY MEDITATIONS, 2D SERIES: 6, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: I fain would praise thee, lord, but finde black sin
Last Line: When thy rich grace shall be my hearty phrase.
Subject(s): Puritans In Literature


I fain would praise thee, Lord, but finde black Sin,
To stain my Tunes my Virginalls to spoile.
Fetch out the same with thy red blood and bring
My Heart in kilter, and my Spirits oyle.
My Theme is rich: my Skill is poore untill
Thy Spirit makes my hand its holy quill.

I spy thyselfe, as Golden Bosses fixt
On Bible Covers, shine in Types out bright,
Of Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, where's immixt
Their streaming Beames of Christ displaying Light.
Jacobs now jog my pen, whose golden rayes
Do of thyselfe advance an holy blaze.

His Name as Jacob, saith there's stow'd in thee
All Wisdom to mentain all Pious Skill
And that the Divells Heels should tript up bee
By thee alone, thou dost his brains out spill.
The Name of Israel in Scutcheons shows
Thou art Gods Prince to batter down his Foes.

His Fathers blessing him, shews thou camest down
Full of thy Fathers blessing: and his Griefe
That thou shouldst be a man of Grief: a Crown
Of Thorns thou wer'st to purchase us reliefe.
Isr'el by Joseph's had to Egypt, and
Joseph thee thither, and from thence did hand.

Jacob doth from his Father go and seek
A Spouse and purchasd by his service two.
Thou from thy Father came'st thy Spouse most meek
Of Jews, and Gentiles down to purchase, Wooe
And gain, and as Twelve Stems did from him bud
Thou twelve Apostles sentst, the Church to stud.

In all those Typick Lumps of Glory I
Spy thee the Gem made up of all their shine
Which from them all in thickest glory fly
And twist themselves into this Gem of thine.
And as the Shine thereof doth touch my heart,
Joy sincks my Soule seeing how rich thou art.

How rich art thou? How poore am I of Love
To thee, when all this Glory at my Doore
Stands knocking for admission: and doth shove
To ope't, and Cabbinet in't all her Store?
Make Love inflamed rise, and all entwine
About Thyselfe her Object all in Shine.

Lord pardon mee, my Sin, and all my trash:
And bring my Soule in Surges of rich flame
Of love to thee. I truely Envie dash
Upon my selfe, my hidebound selfe for shame,
I fain would prize and praise thee, but do sende
My Flame up smootherd by a Carnall minde.

Oh! blow my Coale with thy blesst Bellows till
It Glow, and send Loves hottest Steams on thee.
I shall be warm; and thou mine arms shalt fill
And mine Embraces shall thy Worship bee.
I'le sacrifice to thee my Heart in praise,
When thy Rich Grace shall be my hearty Phrase.





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