I kening through Astronomy Divine <br />The Worlds bright Battlement, wherein I spy <br />A Golden Path my Pensill cannot line, <br />From that bright Throne unto my Threshold ly. <br />And while my puzzled thoughts about it pore <br />I finde the Bread of Life in’t at my doore. <br /> <br />When that this Bird of Paradise put in <br />This Wicker Cage (my Corps) to tweedle praise <br />Had peckt the Fruite forbad: and so did fling <br />Away its Food; and lost its golden dayes; <br />It fell into Celestiall Famine sore: <br />And never could attain a morsell more. <br /> <br />Alas! alas! Poore Bird, what wilt thou doe? <br />The Creatures field no food for Souls e’re gave. <br />And if thou knock at Angells dores they show <br />An Empty Barrell: they no soul bread have. <br />Alas! Poore Bird, the Worlds White Loafe is done <br />And cannot yield thee here the smallest Crumb. <br /> <br />In this sad state, Gods Tender Bowells run <br />Out streams of Grace: And he to end all strife <br />The Purest Wheate in Heaven, his deare-dear Son <br />Grinds, and kneads up into this Bread of Life. <br />Which Bread of Life from Heaven down came and stands <br />Disht on thy Table up by Angells Hands. <br /> <br />Did God mould up this Bread in Heaven, and bake, <br />Which from his Table came, and to thine goeth? <br />Doth he bespeake thee thus, This Soule Bread take. <br />Come Eate thy fill of this thy Gods White Loafe? <br />Its Food too fine for Angells, yet come, take <br />And Eate thy fill. Its Heavens Sugar Cake. <br /> <br />What Grace is this knead in this Loafe? This thing <br />Souls are but petty things it to admire. <br />Yee Angells, help: This fill would to the brim <br />Heav’ns whelm’d-down Chrystall meele Bowle, yea and higher. <br />This Bread of Life dropt in thy mouth, doth Cry. <br />Eate, Eate me, Soul, and thou shalt never dy.<br /><br />Edward Taylor<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/i-am-the-living-bread-meditation-eight-john-6-51/
