The Poems of Edward Taylor Edited by Donald E. Standford ... With a foreword by Louis L. Martz |
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1. | [PART. 1.] |
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The Poems of Edward Taylor | ||
1. [PART. 1.]
Griefe sometimes is a duty yet when GreateAnd geteth vent, it Non-Sense sobs, doth speake
477
Made by the force of hard beset Affections.
Should I in mine pass through this Hemisphere
And beg of ev'ry Eye a Trickling teare
To wash thy Tombe, Deare Hooker, bright therein,
All would not Drown the Griefe that thence doth spring.
Shall thy Choice Name here not embalmed ly
In those Sweet Spices whose perfumes do fly
From thy greate Excellence? It surely would
Be Sacraledge thy Worth back to withhold.
Lord spare the Flock. Shall brave brave Jon'than dy?
And David's place be empty? Sling ly by?
Before their heads those Almond Trees are white
And ere they're mellow'd by old age's weight?
When Birds new Hatcht ware, as in nest they ly,
Presbytick Down, Pinfeatherd Prelacy
(Young Cockerills, whose Combs soare up like Spires
That force their Dams: and Crow against their Sires?)
Dost thou withdraw? and now? Where are thy Spurs
Then to be had? Whose sight would work demurrs.
Where hast thou left thy Strenth, and Potency?
And Congregationall Artillery?
We need the Same, and need it more and more.
For Babels Canons 'gainst our Bulworks roare.
The Poems of Edward Taylor | ||