Edward Taylor - Meditation 22 lyrics

When thy Bright Beams, my Lord, do strike mine Eye, Methinkes I then could truely Chide out right My Hide bound Soule that stands so n***ardly That scarce a thought gets glorified by't. My Quaintest Metaphors are ragged Stuff, Making the Sun seem like a Mullipuff. Its my desire, thou shouldst be glorifi'de: But when thy Glory shines before mine eye, I pardon Crave, lest my desire be Pride. Or bed thy Glory in a Cloudy Sky. The Sun grows wan; and Angells palefac'd shrinke, Before thy Shine, which I besmeere with Inke. But shall the Bird sing forth thy Praise, and shall The little Bee present her thankfull Hum? But I who see thy shining Glory fall Before mine Eyes, stand Blockish, Dull, and Dumb? Whether I speake, or speechless stand, I spy, I faile thy Glory: therefore pardon Cry. But this I finde; My Rhymes do better suite Mine own Dispraise than tune forth praise to thee. Yet being Chid, whether Consonant, or Mute, I force my Tongue to tattle, as you see. That I thy glorious Praise may Trumpet right, Be thou my Song, and make Lord, mee thy Pipe. This shining Sky will fly away space, When thy bright Glory splits the same to make Thy Majesty a Pa**, whose Fairest Face Too foule a Path is for thy Feet to take. What Glory then, shall tend thee through the Sky Draining the Heaven much of Angells dry? What Light then flame will in thy Judgment Seate, 'Fore which all men, and angells shall appeare? How shall thy Glorious Righteousness them treate, Rend'ring to each after his Works done here? Then Saints With Angells thou wilt glorify: And burn Lewd Men, and Divells Gloriously. One glimps, my Lord, of thy bright Judgment day, And Glory piercing through, like fiery Darts, All Divells, doth me make for Grace to pray, For filling Grace had I ten thousand Hearts. I'de through ten Hells to see thy Judgment Day Wouldst thou but guild my Soule with thy bright Ray.