The Golden Grove,
or, A Manuall of Daily Prayers and Letanies
by Jeremy Taylor
Hymns Celebrating the Mysteries and chief Festivals of the Year, according to the manner of the Ancient Church: fitted to the fancy and devotion of the younger and pious persons. Apt for memory, and to be joyned to their other Prayers. Hymns for Advent, or the weeks immediately before the Birth of our blessed Saviour.
WHen Lord, O when shall we
Our dear Salvation see?
Our fainting eyes
Have long'd all night, and 'twas a long one too.
Man never yet could say
He saw more then one day,
One day of Edens seven:
The guilty hours there blasted with the breath
Of sin and death,
Have ever since worn a nocturnal hue.
But thou hast given us hopes that we
At length another day shall see,
Wherein each vile neglected place,
Gilt with the aspect of thy face,
Shall be like that, the porch and gate of Heaven.
How long, dear God, how long!
See how the Nations throng:
All humane kinde
Knit and combin'd
Into one body, look for thee their Head.
Pity our multitude,
Lord, we are vile and rude,
Headless and sensless without thee,
Of all things but the want of thy blest face,
O haste apace;
And thy bright self to this our body wed,
That through the influx of thy power,
Each part that er'st confusion wore
May put on order, and appear
Spruce as the childhood of the year,
When thou to it shalt so united be. Amen.
Lord come away,
Why dost thou stay?
Thy rode is ready; and thy paths made strait
With longing expectation wait
The Consecration of thy beauteous feet.
Ride on triumphantly, behold we lay
Our lusts and proud wills in thy way.
Hosanna! welcome to our hearts. Lord here
Thou hast a Temple too, and full as dear
As that of Sion; and as full of sin,
Nothing but Thieves and Robbers dwell therein;
Enter, and chase them forth & cleanse the floore;
Crucifie them, that they may never more
Profane that holy place
Where thou hast chose to set thy face.
And then if our stiff tongues shall be
Mute in the praises of thy Deity,
The stones out of the Temple wall
Shall cry aloud and call
Hosanna! and thy glorious footsteps greet. Amen.
Mysterious truth! that the self same should be
A Lamb, a Shepherd, and a Lion too!
Yet such was he
Whom first the shepherds knew,
When they themselves became
Sheep to the Shepherd Lambe.
Shepherd of Men and Angels, Lamb of God,
Lion of Judah, by these Titles keep
The Wolf from thy indangered Sheep.
Bring all the world unto thy Fold,
Let Jews and Gentiles hither come
In numbers great that can't be told,
And call thy Lambs that wander, home.
Glory be to God on high,
All glories be to th'glorious Deity.
Where is this blessed Babe
That hath made
All the world so full of joy
That glorious boy
That crowns each Nation
With a triumphant wreath of blessedness?
Where should he be but in the throng,
His Angel Ministers, that sing
And take wing
Just as may Echo to his Voyce,
When wing and tongue and all
May so procure their happiness?
But he hath other Waiters now,
A poor Cow,
An Ox and Mule stand and behold,
That a stable should enfold
Him that can thunder.
Chorus. O what a gracious God have we?
How good, how great! even as our misery.
The blessed Virgin travail'd without pain,
And lodged in an Inne,
A glorious Star the signe
But of a greater guest then ever came that way,
For there he lay
That is the God of Night and Day,
And over all the pow'rs of heaven doth reign.
It was the time of great Augustus Tax,
And then he comes
That payes all sums,
Even the whole price of lost humanity,
And sets us free
From the ungodly Emperie
Of Sin, and Satan, and of Death.
O make our hearts, blest God, thy lodging place,
And in our brest
Be pleas'd to rest,
For thou lov'st Temples better then an Inne,
And cause that sin
May not profane the Deity within,
And sully o're the ornaments of Grace. Amen.
The friend of our eternal King,
Who in his bosome lay,
And kept the Keys
Of his profound and glorious Mysteries:
Which to the world dispensed by his hand,
Made it stand
Fix'd in amazement to behold that light
From the Throne of the Lamb,
Our wretched eyes (which nothing else could see
But fire, and sword, hunger and miserie)
To anticipate by their ravish'd sight
The beauty of Celestial delight.
Mysterious God, regard me when I pray:
And when this load of clay
Shall fall away,
O let thy gracious hand conduct me up,
Where on the Lambs rich viands I may sup:
And in this last Supper I
May with thy friend in thy sweet bosome lie
For ever in Eternity.
Mournful Judah shreeks and cries
At the obsequies
Of their Babes, that cry
More that they lose the paps, then that they die.
He that came with life to all,
Brings the Babes a funeral,
To redeem from slaughter him
Who did redeem us all from sin.
They like himself went spotless hence,
A sacrifice to Innocence;
Which now does ride
Trampling upon Herods pride:
Passing from their fontinels of clay
To heaven a milky and a bloody way.
All their tears and groans are dead,
And they to rest and glory fled;
Lord, who wert pleas'd so many babes should fall,
Whil'st each sword hop'd that every of the All
Was the desir'd King: make us to be
In Innocence like them, in Glory, thee. Amen.
A Comet dangling in the aire
Presag'd the ruine both of Death and Sin;
And told the wise-men of a King,
The King of Glory, and the Sun
Of Righteousness, who then begun
To draw towards that blessed Hemisphere.
They from the furthest East this new
And unknown light pursue,
Till they appeare
In this blest Infants King's propitious eye,
And pay their homage to his Royalty.
Persia might then the rising Sun adore,
It was Idolatry no more:
Great God, they gave to thee
Myrrhe, Frankincense, and Gold:
But Lord, with what shall we
Present our selves before thy Majesty,
Whom thou redeem'dst when we were sold?
W'have nothing but our selves, & scarce that neither,
Vile dirt and clay:
Yet it is soft, and may
Accept it, Lord, and say, this thou had'st rather;
Stamp it, and on this sordid metal make
Thy holy Image, and it shall out-shine
The beauty of the golden Myne. Amen.
Death, the old Serpents Son,
Thou had'st a sting once like thy Sire,
That carried Hell, and ever-burning fire:
But those black dayes are done;
Thy foolish spite buried thy sting
In the profound and wide
Wound of our Saviours side.
And now thou art become a tame and harmless thing,
A thing we dare not fear
Since we hear
That our triumphant God to punish thee
For the affront thou didst him on the Tree,
Hath snatcht the keyes of Hell out of thy hand,
And made thee stand
A Porter to the gate of Life, thy mortal enemie.
O thou who art that Gate, command that he
May when we die
And thither flie,
Let us into the Courts of Heaven through thee.
My Soul doth pant tow'rds thee
My God, Source of eternal life:
Flesh fights with me,
Oh end the strife
And part us, that in peace I may
My wearied spirit, and take
My flight to thy eternal Spring;
Where for his sake
Who is my King,
I may wash all my tears away
Thou Conqueror of Death,
Glorious triumpher o're the Grave,
Whose holy breath
Was spent to save
Lost Mankinde; make me to be stil'd
And take me when I dye,
And go unto my dust, my Soul
Above the sky
With Saints enroll,
That in thy arms for ever I
May lye. Amen.
Great Judge of all, how we vile wretches quake!
Our guilty bones do ake,
Our marrow freezes, when we think
Of the consuming fire
Of thine ire;
And horrid phials thou shalt make
The wicked drink,
When thou the winepress of thy wrath shalt tread
With feet of lead.
Sinful rebellious clay! what unknown place
Shall hide it from thy face!
When earth shall vanish from thy fight,
The heavens that never err'd,
Thy laws, shal from thy presence take their flight,
And kil'd with glory, their bright eyes, stark dead
Start from their head:
Lord, how shall we,
Thy enemies, endure to see
So bright, so killing Majesty?
Mercy dear Saviour: Thy Judgement seat
We dare not Lord intreat;
We are condemn'd already, there.
Mercy: vouchsafe one look
On thy book
Of life; Lord we can read the saving Jesus, here,
And in his Name our own Salvation see:
Lord set us free,
The book of sin
Is cross'd within,
Our debts are paid by thee.
O Beauteous God, uncircumscribed treasure
Of an eternal pleasure,
Thy Throne is seated far
Above the highest Star,
Where thou prepar'st a glorious place
Within the brightness of thy face
For every spirit
That builds his hopes on thy merit,
And loves thee with a holy charity.
What ravish'd heart, Seraphick tongue or eyes,
Clear as the mornings rise,
Can speak, or think, or see
That bright eternity?
Where the great Kings transparent Throne,
Is of an intire Jaspar stone:
There the eye
And a sky
Of Diamonds, Rubies, Chrysoprase,
And above all, thy holy face
Makes an eternal Clarity,
When thou thy Jewels up dost binde: that day
Remember us, we pray,
That where the Beryl lyes
And the Crystal, 'bove the skyes,
There thou may'st appoint us place
Within the brightness of thy face;
And our Soul
In the Scrowl
Of life and blissfulness enrowl,
That we may praise thee to eternity.
Horrid darkness, sad and fore,
And an eternal Night,
Groans and shrieks, and thousands more
In the want of glorious light:
Every corner hath a Snake
In the accursed lake:
Seas of fire, beds of snow
Are the best delights below,
A Viper from the fire
Is his hire
That knows not moments from Eternity.
Glorious God of Day and Night,
Spring of eternal Light,
Allelujahs, Hymns and Psalms,
And Coronets of Palms
Fill thy Temple evermore.
O mighty God,
Let not thy bruising rod
Crush our loins with an eternal pressure;
O let thy mercy be the measure,
For if thou keepest wrath in store
We all shall die,
And none be left to glorifie
Thy Name, and tell
How thou hast sav'd our souls from Hell.
Full of wrath, his threatning breath
Belching nought, but chains and death:
Saul was arrested in his way
By a voice and a light,
That if a thousand dayes
Should joyn rayes
To beautifie one day,
It would not shew so glorious and so bright.
On his amazed eyes it night did fling,
That day might break within;
And by those beams of Faith
Make him of a childe of wrath
Become a vessel full of glory.
Lord curb us in our dark and sinful way,
We humbly pray,
When we down horrid precipices run
With feet that thirst to be undone,
That this may be our story.
Pure and spotless was the Maid
That to the Temple came,
A pair of Turtle-doves she paid,
Although she brought the Lamb.
Pure and spotless though she were,
Her body chaste, and her soul faire,
She to the Temple went
To be purifi'd
That she was spotless and obedient.
O make us to follow so blest Precedent,
And purifie our souls, for we
Are cloth'd with sin and misery.
From our conception
And a continued state of sin,
Hath sullied all our faculties within.
We present our souls to thee
Full of need and misery:
And for Redemption a Lamb
The purest, whitest that e're came
A Sacrifice to thee,
Even he that bled upon the Tree.
The Lamb is eaten, and is yet again
Preparing to be slain;
The Cup is full and mixt,
And must be drunk:
Wormwood and gall
To this, are draughts to beguile care withall,
Yet the Decree is fixt.
Doubled knees, and groans, and cries,
Prayers and sighs, and flowing eyes
Could not intreat.
His sad Soul sunk
Under the heavy pressure of our sin:
The pains of Death and Hell
About him dwell.
His Fathers burning wrath did make
His very heart, like melting wax, to sweat
Rivers of blood,
Through the pure strainer of his skin:
His boiling body stood
Bubling all o're,
As if the wretched whole were but one dore
To let in pain and grief,
And turn out all relief.
O thou, who for our sake
Didst drink up
This bitter Cup:
Remember us, we pray,
In thy day,
The strugling throats of wicked men
The dregs of thy just fury shall be thrown.
Let thy unbounded mercy think
On us, for whom
Thou underwent'st this heavy doom,
And give us of the well of life to drink. Amen.
A Winged harbinger from bright heav'n flown,
Bespeaks a lodging room
For the mighty King of Love,
The spotless structure of a Virgin womb,
O'reshadow'd with the wings of the blest Dove:
For he was travelling to earth,
But did desire to lay
By the way,
That he might shift his clothes, and be
A perfect Man as well as we.
How good a God have we! who for our sake,
To save us from the burning lake,
Did change the order of Creation:
At first he made
Man like himself in his own Image; now
In the more blessed reparation
The Heavens bow:
Eternity took the measure of a span,
Let us make our self like Man,
And not from Man the Woman take,
But from the Woman, Man.
Allelujah: we adore
His Name, whose goodness hath no store.
What glorious light!
How bright a Sun after so sad a night
Does now begin to dawn! Bless'd were those eyes
That did behold
This Sun when he did first unfold
His glorious beams, and now begin to rise:
It was the holy tender Sex
That saw the first ray:
Saint Peter and the other, had the reflex,
The second glimpse o'th'day.
Innocence had the first, and he
That fled, and then did penance, next did see
The glorious Sun of Righteousness
In his new dress
Of triumph, immortality, and bliss.
O dearest God preserve our souls
In holy innocence;
Or if we do amiss,
Make us to rise again to th'life of Grace,
That we may live with thee, and see thy glorious face,
The crown of holy Penitence.
He is risen higher, not set:
Indeed a cloud
Did with his leave make bold to shroud
The Sun of Glory from Mount Olivet.
At Pentecost hee'll shew himself again,
When every ray shall be a tongue
To speak all comforts, and inspire
Our Souls with their celestial fire;
That we the Saints among
May sing, and love, and reign.
Tongues of fire from heaven descend
With a mighty rushing wind,
To blow it up and make
A living fire
Of heavenly Charity, and pure desire,
Where they their residence should take.
On the Apostles sacred heads they sit,
Who now like Beacons do proclaim and tell
Th'invasion of the host of Hell;
And give men warning to defend
Themselves from the inraged brunt of it.
Lord, let the flames of holy Charity,
And all her gifts and graces slide
Into our hearts, and there abide;
That thus refined, we may soar above
With it unto the element of Love,
Even unto thee dear Spirit,
And there eternal peace and rest inherit.
LOrd, I have sinn'd, & the black number swells
To such a dismal sum,
That should my stony heart and eyes,
And this whole sinful trunk, a flood become,
And run to tears, their drops could not suffice
To count my score,
Much less to pay:
But thou, my God, hast blood in store,
And art the Patron of the poore.
Yet since the Balsam of thy Blood,
Although it can, will do no good,
Unless the wounds be cleans'd with tears before;
Thou in whose sweet but pensive face
Laughter could never steal a place,
Teach but my heart and eyes
To melt away,
And then one drop of Balsam will suffice. Amen.
Great God, and just! how canst thou fee,
Dear God, our miserie,
And not in mercy set us free?
Poor miserable man! how wert thou born,
Weak as the dewy jewels of the Morn,
Rapt up in tender dust,
Guarded with sins and lust,
Who like Court flatterers waite
To serve themselves in thy unhappy fate.
Wealth is a snare, and poverty brings in
Inlets for theft, paving the way for sin:
Each perfum'd vanity doth gently breath
Sin in thy Soul, and whispers it to Death.
Our faults like ulcerated sores do go
O're the sound flesh, and do corrupt that too.
Lord, we are sick, spotted with sin,
Thick as a crusty Lepers skin,
Like Naaman, bid us wash, yet let it be
In streams of blood that flow from thee:
Then will we sing,
Touch'd by the heavenly Doves bright wing,
Hallelujahs, Psalms and Praise
To God the Lord of night and dayes;
Ever good, and ever just,
Ever high, who ever must
Thus be sung; is still the same;
Eternal praises crown his Name. Amen.