Edward Taylor

Poetry
Meditation

What Love is this of thine, that Cannot bee

In thine Infinity, O Lord, Confinde,
Unless it in thy very Person see,
Infinity, and Finity Conjoyn'd?
What hath thy Godhead, as not satisfide
Marri'de our Manhood, making it its Bride?

Oh, Matchless Love! filling Heaven to the brim!

O're running it: all running o're beside
This World! Nay Overflowing Hell; wherein
For thine Elect, there rose a mighty Tide!
That there our Veans might through thy Person bleed,
To quench those flames, that else would on us feed.

Oh! that thy Love might overflow my Heart!

To fire the same with Love: for Love I would.
But oh! my streight'ned Breast! my Lifeless Sparke!
My Fireless Flame! What Chilly Love, and Cold?
In measure small! In Manner Chilly! See.
Lord blow the Coal: Thy Love Enflame in mee.
Let Him Kiss Me With the Kiss of His Mouth

What placed in the Sun: and yet my ware,

A Cloud upon my head? an Hoodwinke blinde?
In middst of Love thou layst on mee, despare?
And not a blinke of Sunshine in my minde?
Shall Christ bestow his lovely Love on his,
And mask his face? allowing not a kiss?

Shall ardent love to Christ enfire the Heart?

Shall hearty love in Christ embrace the Soule?
And shall the Spirituall Eye be wholy dark,
In th'heart of Love, as not belov'd, Condole?
In th'midst of Love's bright Sun, and yet not see
A Beame of Love allow'd to lighten thee?

Lord! read the Riddle: Shall a gracious heart

The object of thy love be sick of Love?
And beg a kiss under the piercing Smart,
Of want thereof? Lord pitty from above.
What wear the Sun, without a ray of light?
In midst of Sunshine, meet a pitchy night?

Thy foes, whose Souls Sins bowling alley's grown

With Cankering Envy rusty made, stand out
Without all Sense of thy Sweet Love ere shown
Is no great wonder. Thou lov'st not this rout.
But wonder't is that such that grudge their hearts
Hold love too little for thee, should thus smart.

Nay, nay, stand Sir: here's wisdom very cleare.

None sensibly can have thy love decline:
That never had a drop thereof: nor ere
Did test thereof. This is the right of thine.
Such as enjoy thy Love, may lack the Sense
May have thy love and not loves evidence.

Maybe thy measures are above thy might.

Desires Crave more than thou canst hold by far:
If thou shouldst have but what thou would, if right,
Thy pipkin soon would run ore, breake, or jar.
Wisdom allows enough: none t'wast is known.
Because thou hast not all, say not, thoust none.
Christ loves to lay thy Love under Constraint.
He therefore lets not's Love her Candle light,
To see her Lovely arms that never faint
Circle thyself about, with greate Delight.
The prayers of Love ascend in gracious tune
To him as Musick, and as heart perfume.

But listen, Soule, here seest thou not a Cheate.

Earth is not heaven: Faith not Vision. No.
To see the Love of Christ on thee Compleate
Would make heavens Rivers of joy, earth overflow.
This is the Vale of tears, not mount of joyes.
Some Crystal drops while here may well suffice.

But, oh my Lord! let mee lodge in thy Love.

Although thy Love play bow-peep with me here.
Though I be dark: want Spectacles to prove
Thou lovest mee: I shall at last see Clear.
And though not now, I then shall sing thy praise.
In that thy love did tende me all my dayes.
If One Died For All Then All Are Dead

Oh! Good, Good, Good, my Lord. What more Love yet.

Thou dy for meet What, am I dead in thee?
What did Deaths arrow shot at me thee hit?
Didst slip between that flying shaft and mee?
Didst make thyselfe Deaths marke shot at for nice?
So that her Shaft shall fly no far than thee?

Di'dst dy for mee indeed, and in thy Death

Take in thy Dying thus my death the Cause?
And lay I dying in thy Dying breath,
According to Graces Redemption Laws?
If one did dy for all, it needs must bee
That all did dy in one, and from death free.

Infinities fierce firy arrow red

Shot from the splendid Bow of justice bright
Did smite thee down, for thine. Thou art their head.
They di'de in thee. Their death did on thee light.
They di'de their Death in thee, thy Death is theirs.
Hence thine is mine, thy death my trespass clears.

How sweet is this: my Death lies buried

Within thy Grave, my Lord, deep under ground,
It is unskin'd, as Carrion rotten Dead:
For Grace's hand gave Death its deadly wound.
Deaths no such terrour on th'Saints blesst Coast.
Its but a harmless Shade: No walking Ghost.

The Painter lies: the Bellfrey Pillars weare

A false Effigies now of Death, alasl
With empty Eyeholes, Butter teeth, bones bare
And spraggling arms, having an Hour Glass
In one grim paw. Th'other a Spade doth hold
To shew deaths frightfull region under mould.

Whereas its Sting is gone: its life is lost.

Though unto Christless ones it is most Grim
Its but a Shade to Saints whose path it Crosst,
Or Shell or Washen face, in which she sings
Their Bodies in her lap a Lollaboy
And sends their Souls to sing their Masters joy.

Lord let me finde Sin, Curse and Death that doe

Belong to me ly slain too in thy Grave.
And let thy law my clearing hence bestow
And from these things let me acquittance have.
The Law suffic'de: and I discharg'd, Hence sing
Thy praise I will over Deaths Death, and Sin.
Huswifery

Make me, O Lord, thy Spinning Wheele compleat;

Thy Holy Worde my Distaff make for mee.
Make mine Affections thy Swift Flyers neate,
And make my Soule thy holy Spoole to bee.
My Conversation make to be thy Reele,
And reele the yarn thereon spun of thy Wheele.

Make me thy Loome then, knit therein this Twine:

And make thy Holy Spirit, Lord, winde quills:
Then weave the Web thyselfe. The yarn is fine.
Thine Ordinances make my Fulling Mills.
Then dy the same in Heavenly Colours Choice,
All pinkt with Varnish't Flowers of Paradise.

Then cloath therewith mine Understanding, Will,

Affections, Judgment, Conscience, Memory;
My Words and Actions, that their shine may fill
My wayes with glory and thee glorify.
Then mine apparell shall display before yee
That I am Cloathd in Holy robes for glory.