The Poems of Edward Taylor Edited by Donald E. Standford ... With a foreword by Louis L. Martz |
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85. | 85. Meditation. Can. 5.1. I have eate my Hony Come with my
Hony. I have drunk my Wine with my Milk. |
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The Poems of Edward Taylor | ||
238
85. Meditation. Can. 5.1. I have eate my Hony Come with my Hony. I have drunk my Wine with my Milk.
26.10m [Dec.] 1708.
Oh! Angells, stand agastard at my Song;
The Aire scarce e're sedans such news as this.
The Soule Christs Spouse his garden Bed's become
Where Christ doth walk in Aromatick bliss.
Sin slaying Grace he gets as Myrrh and Spice.
Grace Nutritive's his Wine, Milk, Hony Choice.
The Aire scarce e're sedans such news as this.
The Soule Christs Spouse his garden Bed's become
Where Christ doth walk in Aromatick bliss.
Sin slaying Grace he gets as Myrrh and Spice.
Grace Nutritive's his Wine, Milk, Hony Choice.
Repentance, Patience, and Humility
And Graces such that mortify our Sin
Thou gatherst up as garden fruits with joy,
Thy bitter Myrrh and Sweet Spice note this thing.
The Exercising of these graces Choice,
Perfume thy Ambient aire with Holy Spice.
And Graces such that mortify our Sin
Thou gatherst up as garden fruits with joy,
Thy bitter Myrrh and Sweet Spice note this thing.
The Exercising of these graces Choice,
Perfume thy Ambient aire with Holy Spice.
Faith, Hope, and Love with Heavenizing Joy.
These graces Nutritive to Souls arise
As Honey in its Comb, deliciously
Unto thy Palate in their Exercise
Thou in the Garden eats as Hony Good,
And drinkst as wine and milk, sweet Sillibub.
These graces Nutritive to Souls arise
As Honey in its Comb, deliciously
Unto thy Palate in their Exercise
Thou in the Garden eats as Hony Good,
And drinkst as wine and milk, sweet Sillibub.
Hast set these Slips, Lord, of the Holy Ghost
In me thy gardens bed? Do they grow there
And bear thee spirituall fruits the which thou dost
Delight thy Palate with, as Choicest Cheere?
Oh! Do these graces that thou sets in mee
Thy Hony, Wine, and Milk Cook up for thee?
In me thy gardens bed? Do they grow there
And bear thee spirituall fruits the which thou dost
Delight thy Palate with, as Choicest Cheere?
Oh! Do these graces that thou sets in mee
Thy Hony, Wine, and Milk Cook up for thee?
Who could believe it, if thou hadst not said
I'm come into my Garden, in its Shine
Have got my myrrh with Spice up. (Oh! sweet trade)
My Hony ate and drunk with milk my Wine?
Hast Eate and drunk my Holy Fair and Good?
Hony ints Comb, and Winemilk Sillibub?
I'm come into my Garden, in its Shine
239
My Hony ate and drunk with milk my Wine?
Hast Eate and drunk my Holy Fair and Good?
Hony ints Comb, and Winemilk Sillibub?
What thing is this? How sweet? How Good? How brave?
Oh! Leape my Soule for joy: art thou become
A Spice bed in Christ's Garden where each Wave
Of spiced aire brieze all his Walks along:
Oh! dress thy Garden, Lord; it fatten well
That I its bed may with such Fruits excell.
Oh! Leape my Soule for joy: art thou become
A Spice bed in Christ's Garden where each Wave
Of spiced aire brieze all his Walks along:
Oh! dress thy Garden, Lord; it fatten well
That I its bed may with such Fruits excell.
Be thou my Gardener, Lord, make my Soule
Thy Gardens Knot. Thy Grace my plants set there.
And make my fruits, thy Myrrh and Spice out rowle,
My Hope, Faith, Charity, thy Chiefe good cheere.
Then Hony, Wine, and Milk Well Spic'de by mee
Shall disht with Praise, thy entertainment bee.
Thy Gardens Knot. Thy Grace my plants set there.
And make my fruits, thy Myrrh and Spice out rowle,
My Hope, Faith, Charity, thy Chiefe good cheere.
Then Hony, Wine, and Milk Well Spic'de by mee
Shall disht with Praise, thy entertainment bee.
The Poems of Edward Taylor | ||