Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, PREPARATORY MEDITATIONS, 2D SERIES: 68 (A), by EDWARD TAYLOR


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

PREPARATORY MEDITATIONS, 2D SERIES: 68 (A), by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: Methinks I spy almighty holding in
Last Line: Which can thy glorious praises sing out best.
Subject(s): Puritans In Literature


Methinks I spy Almighty holding in
His hand the Crystall Sky and Sun in't bright:
As Candle and bright Lanthorn lightening,
The World with this bright lanthorns flaming light
Endungeoning all Darkness underground,
Making all Sunshine Day Heavenward abound.

The Spirituall World, this world doth, Lord out vie:
Its Skie this Crystall Lanthorn doth orematch.
Its Sun, thou Art, that in'ts bright Canopy
Outshines that Candle, Darkness doth dispatch.
Thy Crystall Globe of Glorious Sunshine furld
Light, Life and heate in't Sundayeth the World.

The World without the Sun,'s as dungeon, darke.
The Sun without its Light would Dungeon spring.
The Moon and Stars are but as Chilly Sparks
Of Dying fire. The Sun Cheeres ery thing.
But oh thy Light, Lightsom, delightsom falls
Upon the Soul above all Cordialls.

All Light delights. Yet Dozde wood light is cold.
Some light hath heate yet Darkness doth it bound
As Lamp and Glowworm light. The Stars do hold
A twinkling lifeless Light. The Sun is found
A Ball of Light, of Life, Warmth to natures race.
But thou'rt that Sun, that shines out Saving Grace.

Doz'de wood-light is but glimmer, with no Smoke.
And Candle Light's a smoaky lifeless thing.
The light lodgd in the glowworm's peticoate
Is but a Shew. Star light's nights twinkling.
Moonlight is nightish, Sun makes day: these all
Without our Visive Organs lightless fall.

But thou, my Lord no Dozed Wood Shine art.
No Smoky Candle Light rose from thy Wick.
Thy Light ne'er linde the glowworms velvet part.
Thy Shine makes Stars, Moons, Sunlight darkness thick.
Thou art the Sun of Heavens bright light rose in
The Heavenly Orbs. And Heavens blesst glories spring.

Were all the trees on earth fir'de Torches made,
And all her Grass Wax Candles set on flame
This Light could not make day, this lightsom trade
Would be a darksom Smoke when Sun shines plaine.
But thy Shine, Lord, darkens this Sunshine bright,
And makes the Seing Organ, and its Light.

Within the Horizontall Hemisphere
Of this Bless Sun, Lord, let mee Mansion have.
Make Day, thou Shining Sun, unto mee cleare
Thy Sorry Servant earnestly doth crave.
Let not the Moon ere intervene or fix
Between me and this Sun to make Ecclipse.

O! bright, bright Day. Lord let this Sun Shine flow.
Drive hence my Sin and Darkness greate profound
And up them Coffin in Earths Shade below
In darkness gross, on th'other side the ground.
Neer let the Soyle spew fogs to foile the Light
Of this Sweet Aire pregnant with Sunbeams bright.

How shall my Soule (Such thoughts Enravish mee)
Under the Canopy of this bright Day
Imparadisde, Lightend and Livend bee
Bathd in this Sun Shine 'mong bright Angells play
And with them strive in sweetest tunes expresst
Which can thy glorious praises sing out best.





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