The Poems of Edward Taylor Edited by Donald E. Standford ... With a foreword by Louis L. Martz |
1. |
2. |
3. |
4. |
5. |
6. |
7. |
8. |
9. |
10. |
11. |
12. |
13. |
14, 15. |
16. |
17. |
18. |
19. |
20. |
21. |
22. |
23. |
24. |
25. |
26. |
27. |
28. |
29. |
30. |
31. |
32. |
33. |
34. |
35. |
36. |
37. |
38. |
39. |
40. |
41. |
42. |
43. |
44. |
45. |
46. |
47. |
48. |
49. |
1. |
2. |
3. |
4. |
5. |
6. |
7. |
8. |
9. |
10. |
11. |
12. |
13. |
14. |
15. |
16. |
17. |
18. |
19. |
20. |
21. |
22. |
23. |
24. |
25. |
26. |
27. |
28. |
29. |
30. |
31. |
32. |
33. |
34. |
35. |
36. |
37. |
38. |
39. |
40. |
41. |
42. |
43. |
44. |
45. |
46. |
47. |
48. |
49. |
50. |
51. |
52. |
53. |
54. |
56. |
58. |
59. |
60A. |
60B. |
61. |
62. |
63. |
64. |
65. |
66. |
67A. |
68A. |
67B. |
68B. |
69. |
70. |
71. |
72. |
73. |
74. |
75. |
76. |
77. |
78. |
79. |
80. |
81. |
82. |
83. |
84. |
85. |
86. |
87. |
89. |
90. |
91. |
92. |
93. |
94. |
95. |
96. |
97. |
98. |
99. |
100. |
101. |
102. |
103. |
104. |
105. |
106. |
107. |
108. |
109. |
110. |
111. |
112. |
113. |
114. |
115. |
116. |
117. |
118. |
119. |
120. |
121. |
122. |
123A. |
123B. |
125. |
126. |
127. |
128. |
129. |
130. |
131. |
132. |
133. |
134. |
135. |
136. |
137. |
138. |
139. |
140. |
141. |
142. |
143. |
144. |
145. |
146. |
147. |
148. |
149. |
150. |
151. |
152. | 152. Meditation. Can. 7.5. Thy Head Upon thee is like Carmel and the hair of thy head like Purple.
The King is held in the galleries. |
153. |
154. |
155. |
156. |
157A. |
157B. |
158. |
159. |
160. |
161A. |
161B. |
162. |
163. |
164. |
165. |
1. |
2. |
3. |
4. |
5. |
6. |
7. |
8. |
1. |
2. |
3. |
1. |
2. |
3. |
4. |
5. |
The Poems of Edward Taylor | ||
152. Meditation. Can. 7.5. Thy Head Upon thee is like Carmel and the hair of thy head like Purple. The King is held in the galleries.
27.10m [Dec.] 1719.
My Deare Deare Lord! my Soul is damp Untun'd.
My strings are fallen and their screw pins slipt.
When I should play thy praise each grace perfumd
My strings made fit with graces wax most slick.
My notes that tune thy praise should, pleasantly,
Will onely make an harish symphony.
My strings are fallen and their screw pins slipt.
When I should play thy praise each grace perfumd
My strings made fit with graces wax most slick.
My notes that tune thy praise should, pleasantly,
Will onely make an harish symphony.
Thou gildest ore with sparkling Metaphors
The Object thy Eternall Love fell on
Which makes her glory shine 'bove brightest stars
Carbuncling of the Skies Pavillion
That pave that Crystal Roofe the Earth's Canopy
With golden streaks, border'd with Pomell high.
The Object thy Eternall Love fell on
Which makes her glory shine 'bove brightest stars
Carbuncling of the Skies Pavillion
That pave that Crystal Roofe the Earth's Canopy
With golden streaks, border'd with Pomell high.
The inward Tacles and the outward Traces
Shine with the Varnish of the Holy Ghost
Are th'Habit and the Exercise of Graces
Sent out with glorifying a part an host.
Yea every part from leg to toe do shine
Or Rather from the toe to th'top Divine.
Shine with the Varnish of the Holy Ghost
Are th'Habit and the Exercise of Graces
358
Yea every part from leg to toe do shine
Or Rather from the toe to th'top Divine.
Thus waring of the sparkling shine most bright,
Of Sanctifying Grace in every part
She is an Object of thy blesst delight
That with her beauty doth attack thy heart.
Hence in her galleries thou'rt held, thy Eye
Detains thyselfe surprised with such joy.
Of Sanctifying Grace in every part
She is an Object of thy blesst delight
That with her beauty doth attack thy heart.
Hence in her galleries thou'rt held, thy Eye
Detains thyselfe surprised with such joy.
Then make me Lord a member of thy Spouse
Thus Varnisht with thy spirit, a part of Gold,
A Toe, a Foot, a Navill, Nose or brows,
An Arm, an Hand, a lock of hair, or fold
All sparkling with thy Grace in brightest Rayes
And golden Tunes I'l ever singing praise.
Thus Varnisht with thy spirit, a part of Gold,
A Toe, a Foot, a Navill, Nose or brows,
An Arm, an Hand, a lock of hair, or fold
All sparkling with thy Grace in brightest Rayes
And golden Tunes I'l ever singing praise.
The Poems of Edward Taylor | ||