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The poems and verse-translations of the Right Rev. Jeremy Taylor

For the first time collected and edited after the author's own text: With introduction. By the Rev. Alexander B. Grosart [in Miscellanies of The Fuller Worthies' Library]
1 occurrence of "Before thy fame mine"
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A Meditation of the Four last things Death, Judgment, Heaven, Hell For the time of Lent especially.
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1 occurrence of "Before thy fame mine"
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A Meditation of the Four last things Death, Judgment, Heaven, Hell For the time of Lent especially.

A Meditation of Death.

Death, the old serpent's son,
Thou had'st a sting once like thy sire,
That carried Hell, and ever-burning fire:
But those black dayes are done;


Thy foolish spite buried thy sting
In the profound and wide
Wound of our Saviour's side.
And now thou art become a tame and harmless thing,
A thing we dare not fear
Since we hear
That our triumphant God to punish thee
For the affront thou didst Him on the tree,
Hath snatcht the keyes of Hell out of thy hand,
And made thee stand
A porter to the gate of Life, thy mortal enemie.
O Thou who art that gate, command that he
May when we die
And thither flie,
Let us into the courts of Heaven through Thee.

The Prayer.

My soul doth pant tow'rds Thee
My God, source of eternal life:
Flesh fights with me;
Oh end the strife
And part us, that in peace I may


My wearied spirit, and take
My flight to Thy eternal spring;
Where for His sake
Who is my King,
I may wash all my tears away
That day.
Thou conqueror of Death,
Glorious triumpher o're the grave,
Whose holy breath
Was spent to save
Lost mankinde; make me to be stil'd,
Thy child,
And take me when I dye
And go unto the dust; my soul
Above the sky
With saints enroll,
That in Thy arms for ever I
May lie.

Of the Day of Judgement.

Great Judge of all, how we vile wretches quake!
Our guilty bones do ake,
Our marrow freezes, when we think


Of the consuming fire
Of Thine ire;
And horrid phials thou shalt make
The wicked drink,
When Thou the wine press of Thy wrath shalt tread
With feet of lead.
Sinfull rebellious clay! what unknown place
Shall hide it from Thy face!
When Earth shall vanish from Thy sight,
The heavens that never err'd,
But observ'd
Thy laws, shal from Thy presence take their flight,
And kil'd with glory, their bright eyes, stark dead
Start from their head:
Lord, how shall we
Thy enemies, endure to see
So bright, so killing majesty?
Mercy dear Saviour: Thy judgement-seat
We dare not, Lord, intreat;
We are condemn'd already, there.
Mercy: vouchsafe one look
On Thy book
Of life; Lord we can read the saving Jesus, here,
And in His name our own salvation see:
Lord set us free:


The book of sin
Is cross'd within,
Our debts are paid by Thee.

Of Heaven.

O beauteous God, uncircumscribèd treasure
Of an eternal pleasure,
Thy throne is seated far
Above the highest star,
Where Thou prepar'st a glorious place
Within the brightness of Thy face
For every spirit
To inherit
That builds his hopes on Thy merit,
And loves Thee with a holy charity.
What ravish't heart, seraphick tongue or eyes,
Clear as the Morning's rise,
Can speak, or think, or see
That bright eternity?
Where the great King's transparent throne,
Is of an intire jaspar stone:
There the eye
And a sky


Of diamonds, rubies, chrysoprase,
And above all, Thy holy face
Makes an eternal clarity,
When Thou thy jewels up dost binde; that day
Remember us, we pray.
That where the beryl lies
And the crystal, 'bove the skyes,
There thou may'st appoint us place
Within the brightness of Thy face;
And our soul
In the scrowl
Of life and blissfulness enrowl,
That we may praise Thee to eternity.

Of Hell.

Horrid darkness, sad and sore,
And an eternal night,
Groanes and shrieks, and thousands more
In the want of glorious light:
Every corner hath a snake
In the accursèd lake:
Seas of fire, beds of snow
Are the best delights below,
A viper from the fire
Is his hire


That knows not moments from eternity.
Glorious God of day and night,
Spring of eternall light,
Allelujahs, hymns and psalms
And coronets of palms
Fill Thy temple evermore.
O mighty God
Let not thy bruising rod
Crush our loins with an eternal pressure;
O let Thy mercy be the measure,
For if Thou keepest wrath in store
We all shall die,
And none be left to glorifie
Thy name, and tell
How Thou hast sav'd our souls from Hell.