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PREPAPATORY MEDITATIONS, 1ST SERIES: 19 by EDWARD TAYLOR

Poet Analysis

First Line: LOOK TILL THY LOOKS WANE, MY SOUL; HERE'S GROUND
Last Line: GRAVE, WHERE'S THY VICTORY? DEATH, WHERE'S THY STING?
Subject(s): PURITANS IN LITERATURE;
Looke till thy Looks look Wan, my Soule; here's ground.
The Worlds bright Eye's dash't out: Day-Light so brave
Bemidnighted; the sparkling sun, palde round
With flouring Rayes lies buri'de in its grave
The Candle of the World blown out, down fell.
Life knockt a head by Death: Heaven by Hell.

Alas! this World all filld up to the brim
With Sins, Deaths, Divills, Crowding men to Hell.
For whose reliefe Gods milkwhite Lamb stept in
Whom those Curst Imps did worry, flesh, and fell.
Tread under foot, did Clap their Wings and so
Like Dunghill Cocks over their Conquourd, Crow.

Brave Pious Fraud; as if the Setting Sun:
Dropt like a Ball of Fire into the Seas,
And so went out. But to the East come, run:
You'l meet the morn Shrinde with its flouring Rayes.
This Lamb in laying of these Lyons dead;
Drank of the brooke: and so lift up his Head.

Oh! sweet, sweet joy! These Rampant Fiends befoold:
They made their Gall his Winding sheete; although
They of the Heart-ach dy must, or be Coold
With Inflamation of the Lungs, they know.
He's Cancelling the Bond, and making Pay:
And Ballancing Accounts: its Reckoning day.

See, how he from the Counthouse shining went,
In Flashing Folds of Burnisht Glory, and
Dasht out all Curses from the Covenant
Hath Justices Acquittance in his hand
Pluckt out Deaths Sting, the Serpents Head did mall
The Bars and Gates of Hell he brake down all.

The Curse thus Lodgd within his Flesh, and Cloyde,
Can't run from him to his, so much he gave.
And like a Gyant he awoke, beside,
The Sun of Righteousness rose out of's Grave.
And setting Foot upon its neck I sing
Grave, where's thy Victory? Death, Where's thy Sting?



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