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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

PREPARATORY MEDITATIONS, 2D SERIES: 44 by EDWARD TAYLOR

Poet Analysis

First Line: THE ORATOR FROM RHETORICK GARDENS PICKS
Last Line: THE SWEETEST PIPED PRAISES SHALL BE THINE.
Subject(s): PURITANS IN LITERATURE;
The Orator from Rhetorick gardens picks
His Spangled Flowers of sweet-breathd Eloquence
Wherewith his Oratory brisk he tricks
Whose Spicy Charms Eare jewells do commence.
Shall bits of Brains be candid thus for eares?
My Theme claims Sugar Candid far more cleare.

Things styld Transcendent, do transcende the Stile
Of Reason, reason's stares neere reach so high.
But Jacob's golden Ladder rounds do foile
All reasons Strides, wrought of THEANTHROPIE.
Two Natures distance-standing, infinite,
Are Onifide, in person, and Unite.

In Essence two, in Properties each are
Unlike, as unlike can be. One All-Might
A Mite the other; One Immortall fair.
One mortall, this all Glory, that all night.
One Infinite, One finite. So for ever:
Yet ONED are in Person, part'd never.

The Godhead personated in Gods Son
Assum'd the Manhood to its Person known,
When that the Manhoods essence first begun
That it did never Humane person own.
Each natures Essence e're abides the same.
In person joynd, one person each do claim.

Oh! Dignifide Humanity indeed:
Divinely person'd: almost Deifide.
Nameing one Godhead person, in our Creed,
The Word-made-Flesh. Here's Grace's 'maizing stride.
The vilst design, that villany e're hatcht
Hath tap't such Grace in God, that can't be matcht.

Our Nature spoild: under all Curses groans
Is purg'd, tooke, grac'd with grace, united to
A Godhead person, Godhead-person owns
Its onely person. Angells, Lord its so.
This Union ever lasts, if not relate
Which Cov'nant claims Christs Manhood, separate.

You Holy Angells, Morning-Stars, bright Sparks,
Give place: and lower your top gallants. Shew
Your top-saile Conjues to our slender barkes:
The highest honour to our nature's due.
Its neerer Godhead by the Godhead made
Than yours in you that never from God stray'd.

Here is good anchor hold: and argument
To anchor here, Lord, make my Anchor stronge
And Cable, both of holy geer, out sent
And in this anch'ring dropt and let at length.
My bark shall safely ride then though there fall
On't th'strongest tempests hell can raise of all.

Unite my Soule, Lord, to thyselfe, and stamp
Thy holy print on my unholy heart.
I'st nimble be when thou destroyst my cramp
And take thy paths when thou dost take my part.
If thou wilt blow this Oaten Straw of mine,
The sweetest piped praises shall be thine.



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