Fire and Ice: Puritan and Reformed Writings
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God Commends His Love Unto Us, In That While We Were Yet Sinners, Christ Died For Us.

Meditation on Romans 5:8 by Edward Taylor


Thou pry'st thou screw'st my sincking Soul up to,
     Lord th'Highest Vane amazements Summit Wears
Seeing thy Love ten thousand wonders do
     Breaking Sins Back that blockt it up: us snares.
     The Very Stars, and Sun themselves did scoule,
     Yea Angells too, till it shone out, did howle.


Poore sinfull man lay grovling on the ground.
     Thy wrath, and Curse to dust lay grinding him.
And Sin, that banisht Love out of these bounds
     Hath stufft the world with curses to the brim.
     Gods Love thus Caskt in Heaven, none can tap
     Or breake its truss hoops, or attain a Scrap.


Like as a flock of Doves with feathers washt,
     All o're with yellow gold, fly all away
At one Gun crack: so Lord thy Love Sin quasht
     And Chased hence to heaven (Darksom day).
     It nestles there: and Graces Bird did hatch
     Which in dim types we first Pen feather'd catch.


God takes his Son stows in him all his Love,
     (Oh Lovely One), him Lovely thus down sends
His rich Love Letter to us from above
     And chiefly in his Death his Love Commends,
     Writ all in Love from top to toe, and told
     Out Love more rich, and shining far than gold.


For e'ry Grain stands bellisht ore with Love,
     Each Letter, Syllable, Word, Action sounde
Gods Commendations to us from above,
     But yet Loves Emphasis most cleare is found
     Engrav'd upon his Grave Stone in his blood
     He shed for Sinners, Lord what Love? How good?


It rent the Heavens ope that seald up were
     Against poore Sinners: rend the very Skie
And rout the Curse, Sin, Divell, Hell (Oh Deare,)
     And brake Deaths jaw bones, and its Sting destroy.
     Will search its Coffers: fetch from thence the Dust
     Of Saints, and it attend to glory just.


My God! this thy Love Letter to mee send.
     Thy Love to mee spell out therein I will.
And What choice Love thou dost mee there commend,
     I'le lay up safely in my Souls best till.
     I'le read, and read it; and With Angells soon
     My Mictams shall thy Hallelujahs tune.




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