Poem+1

[|Edward Taylor] [|And All Drunk the Same Spirituall Drinke]

Ye Angells bright, pluck from your Wings a Quill. Make me a pen thereof that best will write. Lend me your fancy, and Angellick skill To treate this Theme, more rich than Rubies bright. My muddy Inke, and Cloudy fancy dark, Will dull its glory, lacking highest Art.

An Eye at Centre righter may describe The Worlds Circumferentiall glory vast As in its nutshell bed it snugs fast tide, Than any angells pen can glory Cast Upon this Drink Drawn from the Rock, tapt by The Rod of God, in Horeb, typickly.

Sea water straind through Mineralls, Rocks, and Sands Well Clarifi'de by Sunbeams, Dulcifi'de, Insipid, Sordid, Swill, Dishwater stands. But here's a Rock of Aqua-Vitae tride. When once God broacht it, out a River came To bath and bibble in, for Israels train.

Some Rocks have sweat. Some Pillars bled out tears. But here's a River in a Rock up tun'd Not of Sea Water nor of Swill. Its beere. No Nectar like it. Yet it once Unbund A River down out runs through ages all. A Fountain opte, to wash off Sin and Fall.

Christ is this Horebs Rock, the streames that slide A River is of Aqua Vitae Deare Yet costs us nothing, gushing from his side. Celestiall Wine our Sinsunk souls to cheare. This Rock and Water, Sacramentall Cup Are made, Lords Supper Wine for us to sup.

This Rock's the Grape that Zions Vineyard bore Which Moses Rod did smiting pound, and press Untill its blood, the brooke of Life, run ore. All Glorious Grace, and Gracious Righteousness. We in this brook must bath: and with faiths quill Suck Grace, and Life out of this Rock our fill.

Lord, oynt me with this Petro oyle. I'm sick. Make mee drinke Water of the Rock. I'm dry. Me in this fountain wash. My filth is thick. I'm faint, give Aqua Vitae or I dy. If in this stream thou cleanse and Chearish mee My Heart thy Hallelujahs Pipe shall bee ||