Fire and Ice: Puritan and Reformed Writings
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The Reflexion

by Edward Taylor

Canticles 2:1 "I am the rose of Sharon."


Lord, art thou at the Table Head above
     Meat, Med'cine, Sweetness, sparkling Beautys, to
Enamour Souls with Flaming Flakes of Love,
     And not my Trencher, nor my Cup o'reflow?
     Ben't I a bidden guest? Oh! sweat mine Eye:
     O'reflow with Teares: Oh! draw thy fountains dry.


Shall I not smell thy sweet, oh! Sharons Rose?
     Shall not mine Eye salute thy Beauty? Why?
Shall thy sweet leaves their Beautious sweets upclose?
     As halfe ashamde my sight should on them ly?
     Woe's me! For this my sighs shall be in grain,
     Offer'd on Sorrows Altar for the same.


Had not my Soule's, thy Conduit, Pipes stopt bin
     With mud, what Ravishment would'st thou.Convay?
Let Graces Golden Spade dig till the Spring
     Of tears arise, and cleare this filth away.
     Lord, let thy Spirit raise my sighings till
     These Pipes my soule do with thy sweetness fill.


Earth once was Paradise of Heaven below,
     Till inkefac'd sin had it with poyson stockt;
And Chast this Paradise away into
     Heav'ns upmost Loft, and it in Glory Lockt.
     But thou, sweet Lord, hast with thy golden Key
     Unlockt the Doore, and made a golden day.


Once at thy Feast, I saw thee Pearle-like stand
     'Tween Heaven and Earth, where Heavens Bright glory all
In streams fell on thee, as a floodgate and
     Like Sun Beams through thee on the World to Fall.
     Oh! Sugar sweet then! My Deare sweet Lord, I see
     Saints Heaven-lost Happiness restor'd by thee.


Shall Heaven and Earth's bright Glory all up lie,
     Like Sun Beams bundled in the sun in thee?
Dost thou sit Rose at Table Head, where I
     Do sit, and Carv'st no morsell sweet for mee?
     So much before, so little now! Sprindge, Lord,
     Thy Rosie Leaves, and me their Glee afford.


Shall not thy Rose my Garden fresh, perfume?
     Shall not thy Beauty my dull Heart assaile?
Shall not thy golden gleams run through this gloom?
     Shall my black Velvet Mask thy fair Face Vaile?
     Pass o're my Faults: shine forth, bright sun; arise!
     Enthrone thy Rosy-selfe within mine Eyes.




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