Edward Taylor - Meditation 26 lyrics

Unclean, Unclean: My Lord, Undone, all vile Yea all Defild: What shall thy Servant doe? Unfit for thee: not fit for holy Soile, Nor for Communion of Saints below. A bag of botches, Lump of Loathsomeness: Defild by Touch, by Issue: Leproust flesh. Thou wilt have all that enter do thy fold Pure, Cleane, and bright, Whiter than whitest Snow Better refin'd than most refined Gold: I am not so: but fowle: What shall I doe? Shall thy Church Doors be shut, and shut out mee? Shall not Church fellowship my portion bee? How can it be? Thy Churches do require Pure Holiness: I am all filth, alas! Shall I defile them, tumbled thus in mire? Or they mee cleanse before I current pa**? If thus they do, Where is the Niter bright And Sope they offer mee to wash me White? The Brisk Red heifer's Ashes, when calcin'd, Mixt all in running Water, is too Weake To wash away my Filth: The Dooves a**ign'd Burnt, and Sin Offerings neer do the feate But as they Emblemize the Fountain Spring Thy Blood, my Lord, set ope to wash off Sin. Oh! richest Grace! Are thy Rich Veans then tapt To ope this Holy Fountain (boundless Sea) For Sinners here to lavor off (all sapt With Sin) their Sins and Sinfulness away? In this bright Chrystall Crimson Fountain flows What washeth whiter, than the Swan or Rose. Oh! wash mee, Lord, in this Choice Fountain, White That I may enter, and not sully here Thy Church, whose floore is pav'de with Graces bright And hold Church fellowship with Saints most cleare. My Voice all sweet, with their melodious layes Shall make sweet Musick blossom'd with thy praise.