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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=381164" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Meditation Twenty</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Philippians II: 9: Wherefore God also hath highly exalted him.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">View, all ye eyes above, this sight which flings<br>Seraphick Phancies in Chill Raptures high:<br>A Turffe of Clay, and yet bright Glories King:<br>From dust to Glory Angell-like to fly.<br>A Mortall Clod immortaliz’d behold,<br>Flyes through the skies swifter than Angells could.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Upon the Wings he of the Winde rode in<br>His Bright Sedan, through all the Silver Skies,<br>And made the Azure Cloud, his Charriot, bring<br>Him to the Mountain of Celestiall joyes.<br>The Prince o’ th’ Aire durst not an Arrow spend,<br>While through his Realm his Charriot did ascend.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He did not in a Fiery Charriot’s shine,<br>And Whirlewinde, like Elias upward goe.<br>But th’golden Ladders Jasper rounds did climbe<br>Unto the Heavens high from Earth below.<br>Each step had on a Golden Stepping Stone<br>Of Deity unto his very Throne.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Methinks I see Heavens sparklingl Courtiers fly,<br>In flakes of Glory down him to attend;<br>And heare Heart Cramping notes of Melody<br>Surround his Charriot as it did ascend:<br>Mixing their Musick, making e’vry strong<br>More to inravish, as they this tune sing.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">God is Gone up with a triumphant shout:<br>The Lord with sounding Trumpets melodies:<br>Sing Praise, sing Praise, sing Praise, sing Praises out,<br>Unto our King sing praise seraphick-wise!<br>Lift up your Heads, ye lasting Doore, they sing,<br>And let the King of Glory Enter in.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Art thou ascended up on high, my Lord,<br>And must I be without thee here below?<br>Art thou the sweetest joy the Heavens afford?<br>Oh! that I with thee was! What shall I do?<br>Should I pluck Feathers from an Angells Wing,<br>They could not waft me up to thee my King.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Lend mee thy Wings, my Lord, I’st fly apace,<br>My Soules Arms stud with thy strong Quills, true Faith;<br>My Quills then Feather with thy Saving Grace,<br>My Wings will take the Winde thy Word displai’th.<br>Then I shall fly up to thy glorious Throne<br>With my strong Wings whose Feathers are thine own.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Edward+Taylor">Edward Taylor</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=381164" data-title="Meditation Twenty de Edward Taylor" data-description="Philippians II: 9: Wherefore God also hath highly exalted him.

View, all ye eyes above, this sight which flings
Seraphick Phancies in Chill Raptures high:
A Turffe of Clay, and yet bright Glories King:
From dust to Glory Angell-like to fly.
A Mor..."></div>
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