Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, PREPARATORY MEDITATIONS, 2D SERIES: 60 (A), by EDWARD TAYLOR



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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

PREPARATORY MEDITATIONS, 2D SERIES: 60 (A), by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: Count me not liquorish if my soule do pine
Last Line: Sing forth thy glory with bright angells all.
Subject(s): Puritans In Literature


Count me not liquorish if my Soule do pine
And long for Angells bread of Heavens wheate
Ground in thy Quorns, Searcde in the Laws Lawn fine
And bakt in Heavens backhouse for our meate.
Ist die of Famine, Lord, My Stomach's weak.
And if I live, Manna must be my meate.

I'm sick; my sickness is mortality
And Sin both Complicate (the worst of all).
No cure is found under the Chrystall Sky
Save Manna, that from heaven down doth fall.
My Queasy Stomach this alone doth Crave.
Nought but a bit of manna can mee save.

This Bread came down from heaven in a Dew
In which it bedded was, untill the Sun
Remoov'd its Cover lid: and did it shew
Disht dayly food, while fourty years do run.
For Isra'ls Camp to feast upon their fill
Thy Emblem, Lord, in print by perfect Skill.

Thou in thy word as in a bed of Dewes
Like Manna on thy Camp dost fall and light
Hid Manna, till the Sun Shine bright remooves
The Rug, and doth display its beauty bright
Like pearly Bdellium White and Cleare to set
The Sight, and Appetite the same to get.

This is a Shining Glass, wherein thy face
My Lord, as Bread of Life, is clearly seen.
The Bread of Life, and Life of lively Grace
Of such as live upon't do flowrish Green.
That makes their lives that on it live ascend
In heav'nly rayes to heaven that have none end.

Refresh my Sight, Lord, with thy Manna's eye.
Delight my tast with this sweet Honied Cake.
Enrich my Stomach with this Cake bread high.
And with this Angells bread me recreate.
Lord, make my Soule thy Manna's Golden Pot
Within thine Arke: and never more forgot.

Here's food for ery day, and th'Seventh too:
(Though't never fell upon the Seventh day
But on the first, and ery week day new)
And now is on the Camp shour'd ery way.
Yet where it is not rightly usd it turns
To nauseous sent, and doth occasion worms.

It's first daye's Mess Disht up in Heavenly Dew.
Lord feede mee all wayes with't: it will enable
Mee much to live up to thy praise anew.
Angells delight, attending on this table.
If on this Angell fare I'm fed, I shall
Sing forth thy glory with bright Angells all.





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