Lord, Can a Crumb of Earth the Earth outweigh:
Outmatch all mountains, nay the Chrystall Sky?
Imbosom in’t designs that shall Display
And trace into the Boundless Deity?
Yea, hand a Pen whose moysture doth guild ore
Eternall Glory with a glorious glore.
If it is Pen had of an Angels Quill,
And sharpened on a Pretious Stone ground tite,
And dipt in Liquid Gold, and mov’de by skill
In Christall leaves should golden Letters write,
It would but blot and blur: yea, jag and jar,
Unless thou mak’st the Pen and Scribener.
I am this Crumb of Dust which is design’d
To make my Pen until they Praise alone,
And my dull Phancy I would gladly grinde
Unto an Edge on Zions Pretious Stone:
And Write in Liquid Gold upon they Name
My Letters till they glory forth doth flame.
Let not th’ attempts breake down my Dust I pray,
Nor laugh though them to scorn, but pardon give.
Inspire this Crumb of Dust till it display
They Glory though ‘t: and then thy dust shall live.
Its failings then thou’lt overlook I trust,
They being Slips slipt from they Crumb of Dust
They Crumb of Dust breaths two words from its breast;
That though wilts guide its pen to write aright
To Prove though art, and that thou are the best,
And shew they Properties to shine most bright.
And then they Works will shine as flowers on Stems,
Or as in Jewellary Shops, do jems.
The Poetical Works of Edward Taylor, Thomas H. Johnson, ed., Public Domain