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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=381168" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Preparatory Meditations - First Series: 32</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">(I. Corinthians 3:22. Whether Paul or Apollos, or Cephas)</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Thy grace, dear Lord, 's my golden wrack, I find,<br>Screwing my fancy into ragged rhymes,<br>Tuning Thy praises in my feeble mind<br>Until I come to strike them on my chimes.<br>Were I an angel bright, and borrow could<br>King David's harp, I would them play on gold.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But plunged I am, my mind is puzzled,<br>When I would spin my fancy thus unspun,<br>In finest twine of praise I'm muzzled,<br>My tazzled thoughts twirled into snick-snarls run.<br>Thy grace, my Lord, is such a glorious thing,<br>It doth confound me when I would it sing.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Eternal love an object mean did smite,<br>Which by the prince of darkness was beguiled,<br>That from this love it ran and swelled with spite,<br>And in the way with filth was all defiled,<br>Yet must be reconciled, cleansed, and begraced,<br>Or from the fruits of God's first love displaced.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then grace, my Lord, wrought in Thy heart a vent,<br>Thy soft soft hand to this hard work did go,<br>And to the milk-white throne of justice went<br>And entered bond that grace might overflow.<br>Hence did Thy person t my nature tie<br>And bleed through human veins to satisfy.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Oh! grace, grace, grace! This wealthy grace doth lay<br>Her golden channels from Thy father's throne,<br>Into our earthen pitchers to convey<br>Heaven's aqua vitae to s for our own.<br>O! Let Thy golden gutters run into<br>My cup this liquor till it overflow.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Thine ordinances, grace's wine-fats where<br>Thy spirit walks, and grace's runs do lie, <br>And angels waiting stand with holy cheer<br>From grace's conduit head, with all supply.<br>These vessels full of grace are, and the bowls<br>In which their taps do run are precious souls.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Thou to the cups dost say (that catch this wine)<br>'This liquor, golden pipes, and wine-fats plain,<br>Whether Paul, Apollos, Cephas, all are thine.'<br>Oh golden word! Lord, speak it o'er again.<br>Lord, speak it home to me, say these are mine.<br>My bells shall then Thy praises bravely chime.</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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Thy grace, dear Lord, 's my golden wrack, I find,
Screwing my fancy into ragged rhymes,
Tuning Thy praises in my feeble mind
Until I come to strike them on my chimes.
Were I an angel brigh..."></div>
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