Tag Archives: Poems

Edward Taylor Meditation 36.3 What strange strange thing am I?

09 Tuesday Nov 2021

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The first two run thy glory would to shame.
The last plea doth my soul to hell confine.
My faith therefore doth all these pleas disdain.
Thou kindness art, it saith, and I am thine.
Upon this bank it doth on tiptoes stand
To ken o’re Reason’s head at Grace’s hand.

Now he considers the possibilities. If vileness indeed has the ultimate power in his life, or if grace lacks the strength to respond to the movement of sin, then God’s promises are weaker than the strength of sin. It would bring God’s glory to shame. For what can we do with a promise such as

For sin will not have dominion over you, since you are not under law but under grace. Rom. 6:14

And he rejects these possibilities on the ground that God cannot untrue.

The third possibility he considered, that he is not truly God’s, he also rejects because that would mean that he is accursed.

What then does he attribute to the basis for this consideration:

My faith therefore doth all these pleas disdain.

These are repugnant to faith, even though they appear as a matter of reason to be the only possibilities. Having worked himself into an apparent dead end, the poem, at this point, spies a way out of the quandary:

His faith “It” sees something. Faith begins with the truth of God: God is kindness. Second, faith knows that it lays hold of God, and those who confess and believe are indeed those who belong to God (I am thine). He knows that God cannot be a liar.

Faith from here spies somewhat difficult to see

Upon this bank it doth on tiptoes stand

Faith stands upon a bank. The bank (such as riverbank) must be (1) the disdain which faith has for the possibilities: since these things cannot be true—even though it seems most reasonable; and (2) the knowledge that God is kind, and he is God’s. I will start here and look for the answer. I belong to a good God. What must that mean for someone in my condition?

Faith has the ability to see over the head of Reason and to see what Grace can do:

To ken o’re Reason’s head at Grace’s hand.

Notice something here about Faith. Faith is not blind. It is not merely guessing or vague hoping. He understands faith as a specific kind of knowledge.

Perhaps it would be best to understand Faith as the means by which persons know one-another. We believe we love another, when we believe another loves us – or hates us for that matter; we are exercising faith. While we use the word “belief” as a weak form of knowledge, that is not the only meaning of that word. Belief/faith is means by which the intangible but real beauty of a relationship can be known.

Reason assumes a sort of self-interestedness: it is unreasonable to give all that you for the good of another. It is unreasonable to love your enemy. These things do not serve my self-interest. But Faith can see things which are unreasonable, not because they are untrue, but because they do not serve one’s self-interest.

There is a kind of love in God which is both true and unreasonable (in this sense). The absolute core of Christianity is the love of the enemy. God loves his enemies and makes them into family. We are then called upon to love our enemies (which is both exalted and impossible, for this is something God must convey through us) and in so doing help to reconcile them to God.

And so Faith can see past reason and see that must exquisite of treasures, Grace.

Faith is needed to understand God, because the work of God is often not directed at the particular moment, but may be directed toward the outcome (thus, as the poet will tell us, God’s patience is not for the purpose of encouraging his sin, but rather for the provocation of the poet’s love toward God). Conversely, difficulties from God often are given out of his love toward us:

Mercy and kindness floweth from him freely, naturally; he is never severe, never harsh; he never stings, he never terrifies us, but when he is sadly provoked by us. God’s hand sometimes may lie very hard upon his people, when his heart, his bowels, at those very times may be yearning towards his people, Jer. 31:18–20. No man can tell how the heart of God stands by his hand; his hand of mercy may be open to those against whom his heart is set, as you see in the rich poor fool, and Dives, in the Gospel; and his hand of severity may lie hard upon those on whom he hath set his heart, as you may see in Job and Lazarus. And thus you see those gracious, blessed, soul-quieting conclusions about the issue and event of afflictions, that a holy, a prudent silence doth include.

Thomas Brooks, The Complete Works of Thomas Brooks, ed. Alexander Balloch Grosart, vol. 1 (Edinburgh; London; Dublin: James Nichol; James Nisbet and Co.; G. Herbert, 1866), 304.

Edward Taylor, Meditation 33, Stanza Three

06 Thursday May 2021

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Stanza Three

Nature’s amazed, Oh monstrous thing, quoth she,

Not love my life? What violence doth split

True love and life, that they should sundered be?                  15

She doth not lay such eggs, nor on them sit.

How do I sever then my heart with all

It powers whose love scare to my life doth crawl.

Summary:

“Nature” now makes an appearance. “She” is amazed when she looks upon the unnatural love of Taylor of that which is not his life. This leads the poet to a question: How do I stop my heart from loving that which is not his life?

Notes:

Nature’s amazed: this is an interesting personification of nature. The concept of “nature” or “natural” has a few potential meanings, which need to be distinguished here. 

First is “nature” in the sense of being or essence: it is a kind of nature you are: “Since Christ, being a divine Person, did not suffer according to His divine nature but according to His human nature, exaltation as such did not occur according to His divine nature.” Wilhelmus à Brakel, The Christian’s Reasonable Service, ed. Joel R. Beeke, trans. Bartel Elshout, vol. 1 (Grand Rapids, MI: Reformation Heritage Books, 1992), 625.

Second, there is nature as opposed to grace: to be “natural” is what one is aside from the work of  the Spirit. “By spiritual Edwards means “sanctified” in opposition to “carnal,” which signifies the natural or unsanctified man.” John E. Smith, “Editor’s Introduction,” in Religious Affections, ed. John E. Smith and Harry S. Stout, Revised edition., vol. 2, The Works of Jonathan Edwards (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2009), 24.

Third, there is a common grace operation of the Spirit generally, which makes certain considerations “natural” to everyone, “The nature of the work of the Spirit may be learnt from the nature of his work in legal conviction. ’Tis the same common enlightening assistance of both, but only one is of evil, and the other of good. Those legal convictions that natural men have are from the common illuminations of the Spirit of God concerning evil.” Jonathan Edwards, The “Miscellanies”: (Entry Nos. 501–832), ed. Ava Chamberlain and Harry S. Stout, vol. 18, The Works of Jonathan Edwards (New Haven; London: Yale University Press, 2000), 357–358. 

But a personified “Nature” is certainly not a common idiom among those of Taylor’s intellectual world. This “nature” is no human being, but rather fulfills the position of say an angel who can look upon and see Taylor, but is not himself God nor another human being. 

But such an understanding immediately runs into a problem in the next line:

Nature’s amazed, Oh monstrous thing, quoth she,

Not love my life?

The “my” of “my life” means that Nature is the one conveying the life to Taylor. But that life is also in God and of God. I can understand what Taylor means by this usage, but this is not Taylor’s most theologically careful usage. 

Perhaps a way to keep this line is as if “Nature” refers to the natural life which Taylor being alive. It would then be his own life speaking to him: Why don’t you cherish your own life? But that is problematic with this line:

She doth not lay such eggs, nor on them sit.

And so we are left with a vaguely personified Nature speaking to him.

Love and life:

The incoherence of sin is here laid out: He loves something which is contrary to his life. Rationally, one’s love should be to one’s own life. As Paul writes, “For no one ever hated his own flesh.” Eph. 5:29 But in sin one loves something not only trivial but also contrary to one’s own good. 

This then justifies the use of “Nature” in the sense of: to love something contrary to one’s own life is certainly “unnatural”.

Finally, the quandary:

How do I sever then my heart with all

It powers whose love scare to my life doth crawl.

This is a Kierkegaardian despair: What do I do? How can I stop this of love of what is not my life? I have a heart which refuses to even seek its own good: It will not even crawl toward life. 

Someone whose body was ravaged would drag and crawl out of a wreck, but his heart will not even make an effort toward it’s own life: Hence, it is unnatural.

Edward Taylor, The Daintiest Draft.3

06 Wednesday Jan 2021

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The third stanza resolves the issue of whether the poet refers to himself (or humanity generally) or to Christ:

But yet thou stem of David’s stock when dry

And shriveled held, although most generous green was lopt

Whose sap a sovereign solder is, whereby

The breach repaired is in which it’s dropped.

Oh gracious twig! Thou cut off? Bleed rich juice

T’cement the breach, and glory’s shine reduce?

The “stem of David’s stock” can only refer to Jesus, who is the “Son of David” par excellence (“Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me” Mark 10:47). 

The language of “stock” is a metaphor for a descendent. Thus, the development of the image of this stock=tree in terms of being dry or green sounds as if the poet were merely developing the metaphor at greater length. This is true, but there is also a direct reference to the words of Jesus in this same context.

There is a scene recorded in Luke’s Gospel of a conversation Jesus has with some women while being marched to Golgotha to be crucified:

Luke 23:27–31 (KJV)

27 And there followed him a great company of people, and of women, which also bewailed and lamented him. 28 But Jesus turning unto them said, Daughters of Jerusalem, weep not for me, but weep for yourselves, and for your children. 29 For, behold, the days are coming, in the which they shall say, Blessed are the barren, and the wombs that never bare, and the paps which never gave suck. 30 Then shall they begin to say to the mountains, Fall on us; and to the hills, Cover us. 31 For if they do these things in a green tree, what shall be done in the dry?

Thus the green tree cut, “although most generous green was lopt.” There is one further allusion contained within these lines:

Isaiah 53:2 (KJV)

      2       For he shall grow up before him as a tender plant,

      And as a root out of a dry ground:

      He hath no form nor comeliness;

      And when we shall see him, there is no beauty that we should desire him.

The concept here is that Christ is a green branch that was cut down and then dried as its sap runs out. 

The sap is a “sovereign solder”, a means of sealing together two broken parts. The sap in this instance is the blood of Christ lost in crucifixion. 

What is not immediately clear from the poem is what the solder repairs. The first two stanzas speak of a ruined palace/image. A palace is not repaired by means of a solder. The image of a solder repairs a break between two things. 

The image of solder seems to be drawn from (1) the sap=blood; (2) the break of the branch which bleeds; (3) and then the healing of the branch. The sap from the breach in the branch becomes the solder which heals the branch. 

Taylor does something fascinating here. The branch itself is healed by means of the sap which runs from the breach:

Whose sap a sovereign solder is, whereby

The breach repaired is in which it’s dropped.

Oh gracious twig! Thou cut off? Bleed rich juice

T’cement the breach, and glory’s shine reduce?

In particular note, “Bleed rich juice/T’cement the breach”. The blood spent heals the wound which caused the bleeding.  This makes for a fascinating theological point.

The death of Christ heals the breach between God and Man. In the body of Christ, the bridge and the breach between God and Man are manifest: Christ is God and Man, the mediator between the two. The death of the mediator heals the breach. 

But there is another level at work in Taylor’s poem: The death of Christ, the wounding of his body is the breach between God and Man. The cross is an assault upon God.

This is brought out by Psalm 2 which is a commentary upon the death of Christ:

Psalm 2:1–6 (KJV) 

1           Why do the heathen rage, 

And the people imagine a vain thing? 

2           The kings of the earth set themselves,

And the rulers take counsel together, 

Against the Lord, and against his anointed, saying, 

3           Let us break their bands asunder, 

And cast away their cords from us. 

4           He that sitteth in the heavens shall laugh: 

The Lord shall have them in derision. 

5           Then shall he speak unto them in his wrath, 

And vex them in his sore displeasure. 

6           Yet have I set my king 

Upon my holy hill of Zion. 

The nations attack the Lord in the person of Christ, thinking to free themselves. But in so doing, rather than prevailing, they are witnesses to a coronation; the cross is a throne seen from the right perspective.

Taylor is working on this paradox with these lines: The wound is healed by the blood which flows from the wound. The death of Christ pays for the sin of killing Christ. The breaking of the body of the one who stands between God and Man heals the breach between God and Man. 

Taylor underscores the surprise of the breach being the repair by means of the meter:

Oh GRACious twig! THOU CUT-OFF? BLEED rich JUICE

The excess accented syllables requires one to show down to even say the words. 

Finally, Taylor makes good use of alliteration of D’s and S’s:

But yet thou stem of David’s stock when dry

And shriveled held, although most generous green was lopt

Whose sap a sovereign solder is, whereby

The breach repaired is in which it’s dropped.

Edward Taylor, Was there a palace of pure gold.3

24 Wednesday Jun 2020

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Having fully set out the problem, Taylor prays for a resolution. If he is not adequate by nature, then he seeks to be made adequate by grace. That is, it is not a work of Taylor’s effort, but a work of God, “this worthy work of thine.”

The prayer is threefold: first that his heart be made a sacred vessel (thy golden box); second, filled with the correction disposition (love divine); third, offered up to God.

Oh! That my heart was made thy golden box

Full of affections and of love divine

Knit all in tassels, and the true-love knots,

To garnish o’re this worthy work of thine.

This box and all therein more rich than gold

In sacred flames I to thee offer would.

The image of gold is used for those things most proper to God.  In the previous stanza the poet notes that he had tied “knots” – had decorated the “earth’s toys” lovingly with flowers; but in this stanza, the God-given new heart would decorate the be a “golden box” impossibly knit together from tassels and flower (knots). 

The box would contain “affections” and “love divine”. 

The golden box so decorated would be more wonderful than a mere gold box. 

And last, the box would then be offered up as a sacrifice to God. He would spend this box “in sacred flames.”

The concept of sacrifice here may sound odd, because a fiery sacrifice would be the destruction of the golden box. While Taylor is perfectly willing to mix metaphors (a golden box made of flowers), the concept here is more likely the concept of a “living sacrifice”:

Romans 12:1 (AV) 

1 I beseech you therefore, brethren, by the mercies of God, that ye present your bodies a living sacrifice, holy, acceptable unto God, which is your reasonable service. 

If he so reworked and remade, then he will be fit for that heavenly pleasure he desires:

With thy rich tissue my poor soul array:

And lead me to thy Father’s House above.

Thy graces’ storehouse make my soul I pray.

Thy praise shall then wear tassels of my love.

If thou conduct me in thy Father’s Ways,

I’ll the golden trumpet of thy praise. 

The word “tissue” does not here mean an insubstantial paper. The older meaning was a cloth interwoven with gold or silver: the clothing of royalty. And so dress me like a prince and lead to the Father’s House. 

Father’s House comes the Lord’s words in the Upper Room:

John 14:1–2 (AV) 

1 Let not your heart be troubled: ye believe in God, believe also in me. 2 In my Father’s house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you. 

By the way, “mansion” does not mean separate enormous houses: the Greek here speaks of a place to live, a dwelling place. 

The prayer to be led, is a common prayer in the Psalms; which undoubtably was behind Taylor’s prayer in the poem. For instance:

Psalm 43:3 (AV) 

3 O send out thy light and thy truth: let them lead me; 

let them bring me unto thy holy hill, and to thy tabernacles. 

He prays not merely to be led, but rather for the entire renovation of the soul to be a storehouse filled with grace. The idea of grace is free work of God in him: it is the good which God does and gives. 

Then finally being filled with God’s grace and no longer a “leaden mind”, a “blockhead”, he will burst forth in praise. In fact, the praise will be “tassels” a decoration of his love: thus bringing the image of a decorated heart again into view.

This time, if God will bring Taylor to that “Palace of Pure Gold” he will no longer be dumb but will now offer praise. 

What Glory’s This My Lord? (Edward Taylor)

03 Thursday Nov 2016

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The previous post on this poem may be found here:

Oh! Bright! Bright thing! I fain would something say
Lest silence should indict me. Yet I fear
To say a syllable lest at thy day
I be presented for my tattling here.
Coarse phancy, ragged faculties, alas!
And blunted tongue don’t suit: sighs soil the glass.

Tattling: speaking nonsense

Fancy: what we would mean by “imagination”.

Faculties: cognitive, preceptive abilities.

The poet gazes upon the exalted Christ: the joy of the sight has so overdone him that he cannot be silent. He fears not to speak, because the Lord deserves praise. The necessity to praise is built into the primary text underlying this (and the preceding poems in this series), the Carmen Christi of Philippians 2:6-11. That song of Christ ends with the proclamation that “every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and ever tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord to the glory of God the Father” (Phil. 2:10-11, ESV). Therefore, praise of the exalted Lord is impossible to avoid.

And yet he fears to speak because his abilities and command of language are insufficient. This idea has ample Scriptural warrant. Perhaps the most pointed exampled being Paul’s statement in 2 Corinthians upon seeing the heavenly state:

3 And I know that this man was caught up into paradise—whether in the body or out of the body I do not know, God knows— 4 and he heard things that cannot be told, which man may not utter. 2 Corinthians 12:3–4 (ESV)

Also relevant here would be Ecclesiastes 5:

5  Guard your steps when you go to the house of God. To draw near to listen is better than to offer the sacrifice of fools, for they do not know that they are doing evil. 2  Be not rash with your mouth, nor let your heart be hasty to utter a word before God, for God is in heaven and you are on earth. Therefore let your words be few. Ecclesiastes 5:1–2 (ESV)

If we must guard our words on earth, how much more so if we were present in the heavenly court! There is of course the irony of the poet speaking about whether he should speak: in the very act of considering silence, he is not being silent. But what he does do is indict himself (rather than wait to be indicted for speaking foolishly on the “thy day”).

 

 

By referring to “thy day”, Taylor means “the Day of Lord”, which is a repeated phrase throughout Scripture and which arguably refers to different historical events of judgment:

Expression used by OT prophets (as early as the eighth-century B.C. prophet Amos) to signify a time in which God actively intervenes in history, primarily for judgment. Thus “the day of the Lord” is also called “the day of the Lord’s anger” (Zep 2:2 KJV).
Sometimes “the day of the Lord” is used in the OT to speak of a past judgment (Lam 2:22). More often an impending future judgment is in view (Jl 2:1–11). Ultimately, though, the term refers to climactic future judgment of the world (Jl 3:14–21; Mal 4:5). Often prophecy of a near-future event and an end-time prophecy are merged, the immediate judgment being a preview of the final day of the Lord. The prophecy of Isaiah against Babylon is an example (Is 13:5–10). Jesus combined events described there with other prophecies to explain his second coming (Mk 13:24–37). Another example is Joel’s prophecy of the day of the Lord (Jl 1:15–2:11). Though the prophet initially spoke of God’s judgment on Israel by a locust plague, that judgment prompted further pronouncements about a final day of the Lord far beyond Joel’s time (Jl 2:31; 3:14–17). That day of the Lord extended even beyond the outpouring of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost predicted by Joel’s prophecy (Jl 2:28–32; Acts 2:16–21; Rv 6:12, 13). The NT uses the term exclusively to mean the end time.

Walter A. Elwell and Barry J. Beitzel, Baker Encyclopedia of the Bible (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Book House, 1988), 588.

The rhythm of the piece underscores the wonder of the poet as he looks upon the Lord Ascended:

O! Bright! Bright thing!: ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ Four straight stresses.The line is actually overloaded with stresses.

The rhythm is again interrupted in the fifth line of the stanza, where he indicts himself: Coarse fancy, ragged faculties:  ‘ ‘ ^ ‘^. The word “coarse” upsets the entire line thus doing in rhythm what he fears he would do if he spoke.

 

Remorse is Memory Awake

02 Tuesday Sep 2014

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Emily Dickinson, Complete Poems (1924), Part One: Life, LXIX

 

REMORSE is memory awake,

Her companies astir,—

A presence of departed acts

At window and at door.

 

 

Its past set down before the soul,

And lighted with a match,

Perusal to facilitate

Of its condensed despatch.

 

 

Remorse is cureless,—the disease

Not even God can heal;

For ’t is His institution,—

The complement of hell.

My Last Duchess

27 Friday Sep 2013

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(This is one of my favorite poems — and has been since UCLA. Some questions to ask: What does this poem say about morality? About the nature of being a human being? About God? About art? Understanding the poem requires a recognition that Browning has created a character about whom Browning is commenting. This creates a wonderful level of ambiguity in that Browning has frozen the speaker in a work of art, where the speaker has frozen his wife in art.)

MY LAST DUCHESS

By Robert Browning

That’s my last Duchess painted on the wall,
Looking as if she were alive. I call
That piece a wonder, now; Fra Pandolf’s hands
Worked busily a day, and there she stands.
Will’t please you sit and look at her? I said
“Fra Pandolf” by design, for never read
Strangers like you that pictured countenance,
The depth and passion of its earnest glance,
But to myself they turned (since none puts by
The curtain I have drawn for you, but I)
And seemed as they would ask me, if they durst,
How such a glance came there; so, not the first
Are you to turn and ask thus. Sir, ’twas not
Her husband’s presence only, called that spot
Of joy into the Duchess’ cheek; perhaps
Fra Pandolf chanced to say, “Her mantle laps
Over my lady’s wrist too much,” or “Paint
Must never hope to reproduce the faint
Half-flush that dies along her throat.” Such stuff
Was courtesy, she thought, and cause enough
For calling up that spot of joy. She had
A heart—how shall I say?— too soon made glad,
Too easily impressed; she liked whate’er
She looked on, and her looks went everywhere.
Sir, ’twas all one! My favour at her breast,
The dropping of the daylight in the West,
The bough of cherries some officious fool
Broke in the orchard for her, the white mule
She rode with round the terrace—all and each
Would draw from her alike the approving speech,
Or blush, at least. She thanked men—good! but thanked
Somehow—I know not how—as if she ranked
My gift of a nine-hundred-years-old name
With anybody’s gift. Who’d stoop to blame
This sort of trifling? Even had you skill
In speech—which I have not—to make your will
Quite clear to such an one, and say, “Just this
Or that in you disgusts me; here you miss,
Or there exceed the mark”—and if she let
Herself be lessoned so, nor plainly set
Her wits to yours, forsooth, and made excuse—
E’en then would be some stooping; and I choose
Never to stoop. Oh, sir, she smiled, no doubt,
Whene’er I passed her; but who passed without
Much the same smile? This grew; I gave commands;
Then all smiles stopped together. There she stands
As if alive. Will’t please you rise? We’ll meet
The company below, then. I repeat,
The Count your master’s known munificence
Is ample warrant that no just pretense
Of mine for dowry will be disallowed;
Though his fair daughter’s self, as I avowed
At starting, is my object. Nay, we’ll go
Together down, sir. Notice Neptune, though,
Taming a sea-horse, thought a rarity,
Which Claus of Innsbruck cast in bronze for me!

Worthy art thou, O Lord of Praise (Anne Bradstreet).1

04 Thursday Oct 2012

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Worthy art thou, O Lord of praise!

But ah! it’s not in me;

My sinking heart I pray thee raise,

So shall I give it thee.

 

My life as spider’s web’s cut off

Thus fainting have I said,

And living man no more shall see

But be in silence laid.

 

My feeble spirit thou didst revive

My doubting thou didst chide

And as dead mad’st me alive

I here a while might abide.

 

Why should I live but to thy praise?

My life is hid in thee.

O Lord, no longer be my days,

                Then I may fruitful be.

When Sorrows Had Begirt Me Round.4 (Anne Bradstreet)

10 Monday Sep 2012

Posted by in Anne Bradstreet, Biblical Counseling, Prayer, Puritan

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(The entire poem may be found here:

https://memoirandremains.wordpress.com/2012/09/07/when-sorrows-had-begirt-me-round-1-anne-bradstreet/

 

Beclouded was my soul with fear

            Of thy displeasure sore

Nor could I read my evidence

            Which oft I read before.

 

Hide not thy face from me, I cried,

            From burnings keep my soul;

Thou know’st my heart and hast me tried;

            I on they mercy’s roll.

 

 

She writes from a place of fear: She fears that her illness is the result of some wrong on her part. This draws an additional correspondence between her poem and the Psalms, particularly Psalm 32:

 

3 For when I kept silent, my bones wasted away through my groaning all day long. 4 For day and night your hand was heavy upon me; my strength was dried up as by the heat of summer. Selah 5 I acknowledged my sin to you, and I did not cover my iniquity; I said, “I will confess my transgressions to the Lord,” and you forgave the iniquity of my sin. Selah Psalm 32:3–5 (ESV)

 

An unconfessed sin on the part of David results in physical illness and distress on the part of David.  Bradstreet is afraid not merely of her physical ailment, but more so that God may be distressed with her:

 

Beclouded was my soul with fear

            Of thy displeasure sore

 

The reference to ‘evidence’ is as to her assurance. John Bunyan depicts this concept of sin leading to a loss of assurance in the picture of Christian losing his scroll after he falls asleep in shelter. He awakes from a sleep of laziness and begins to rush up the hill without his scroll, his assurance. In that condition, he runs into Timorous and Mistrust warning him of the lion:

 

Christian: Then said Christian, You make me afraid; but whither shall I fly to be safe? If I go back to mine own country, that is prepared for fire and brimstone, and I shall certainly perish there; if I can get to the celestial city, I am sure to be in safety there: I must venture. To go back is nothing but death: to go forward is fear of death, and life everlasting beyond it: I will yet go forward. So Mistrust and Timorous ran down the hill, and Christian went on his way. But thinking again of what he had heard from the men, he felt in his bosom for his roll, that he might read therein and be comforted; but he felt, and found it not. Then was Christian in great distress, and knew not what to do; for he wanted that which used to relieve him, and that which should have been his pass into the celestial city. Here, therefore, he began to be much perplexed, and knew not what to do. At last he bethought himself that he had slept in the arbor that is on the side of the hill; and falling down upon his knees, he asked God forgiveness for that foolish act, and then went back to look for his roll. But all the way he went back, who can sufficiently set forth the sorrow of Christian’s heart? Sometimes he sighed, sometimes he wept, and oftentimes he chid himself for being so foolish to fall asleep in that place, which was erected only for a little refreshment from his weariness. Thus, therefore, he went back, carefully looking on this side and on that, all the way as he went, if happily he might find his roll, that had been his comfort so many times in his journey. He went thus till he came again in sight of the arbor where he sat and slept; but that sight renewed his sorrow the more, by bringing again, even afresh, his evil of sleeping unto his mind. Rev. 2:4; 1 Thess. 5:6-8. Thus, therefore, he now went on, bewailing his sinful sleep, saying, O wretched man that I am, that I should sleep in the daytime! that I should sleep in the midst of difficulty! that I should so indulge the flesh as to use that rest for ease to my flesh which the Lord of the hill hath erected only for the relief of the spirits of pilgrims! How many steps have I taken in vain! Thus it happened to Israel; for their sin they were sent back again by the way of the Red Sea; and I am made to tread those steps with sorrow, which I might have trod with delight, had it not been for this sinful sleep. How far might I have been on my way by this time! I am made to tread those steps thrice over, which I needed not to have trod but once: yea, now also I am like to be benighted, for the day is almost spent. O that I had not slept!

 

Now by this time he was come to the arbor again, where for a while he sat down and wept; but at last, (as Providence would have it,) looking sorrowfully down under the settle, there he espied his roll, the which he with trembling and haste catched up, and put it into his bosom. But who can tell how joyful this man was when he had gotten his roll again? For this roll was the assurance of his life, and acceptance at the desired haven. Therefore he laid it up in his bosom, gave thanks to God for directing his eye to the place where it lay, and with joy and tears betook himself again to his journey. But O how nimbly did he go up the rest of the hill! Yet before he got up, the sun went down upon Christian; and this made him again recall the vanity of his sleeping to his remembrance; and thus he again began to condole with himself: Oh thou sinful sleep! how for thy sake am I like to be benighted in my journey! I must walk without the sun, darkness must cover the path of my feet, and I must hear the noise of the doleful creatures, because of my sinful sleep! Now also he remembered the story that Mistrust and Timorous told him of, how they were frighted with the sight of the lions. Then said Christian to himself again, These beasts range in the night for their prey; and if they should meet with me in the dark, how should I shift them? how should I escape being by them torn in pieces? Thus he went on his way. But while he was bewailing his unhappy miscarriage, he lift up his eyes, and behold there was a very stately palace before him, the name of which was Beautiful, and it stood by the highway-side.

 

http://www.ccel.org/ccel/bunyan/pilgrim.iv.iii.html

 

This matter of crying to find God appears throughout the Psalms, such as in Psalm 13:

 

How long, O Lord? Will you forget me forever? How long will you hide your face from me? Psalm 13:1 (ESV)

The Puritans (of whom Bradstreet is numbered), wrote about God’s frowns, which could arise from sinful conduct on the part of his people:

[3.] Thirdly, There is the eye of fury and indignation. God’s looks can speak his anger, as well as his blows. His fury is visible by his frowns. ‘Mine eyes shall be upon them for evil.’ God’s sight can wound as deeply as his sword. ‘He sharpeneth his eyes upon me,’ saith Job, chap. 16:9. Wild beasts, when they fight, whet their eyes as well as their teeth. ‘He sharpeneth his eyes upon me,’ as if he would stab me to the heart with a glance of his eye. He that waits on God irreverently, or worships him carelessly, or that profaneth his day, either by corporal labour or spiritual idleness, may well expect an eye of fury to be fixed upon him, Jer. 17:27; Ezek. 22:26, 31.

Thomas Brooks, The Complete Works of Thomas Brooks, Volume 6, “London’s Lamentations on the Late Fiery Dispensation”, ed. Alexander Balloch Grosart (Edinburgh; London; Dublin: James Nichol; James Nisbet and Co.; G. Herbert, 1867), 294.

It must also be understood that a tender conscience and a quick response to God’s displeasure was not the sign of a disturbed person. Our modern speed to medicate away all depression would have seemed foolish. Consider the following direction from William Bates:

2. Insensibility of heart is an eminent degree of despising the Lord’s chastenings.—A pensive feeling of judgments is very congruous, whether we consider them in genere physico or morali, “either materially as afflictive to nature, or as the signs of divine displeasure:” for the affections were planted in the human nature by the hand of God himself, and are duly exercised in proportion to the quality of their objects; and when grace comes, it softens the breast, and gives a quick and tender sense of God’s frown. An eminent instance we have in David; though of heroical courage, yet, in his sad ascent to mount Olivet, he went up weeping, with his head covered and his feet bare, to testify his humble and submissive sense of God’s anger against him. (2 Sam. 15:30.) Now when men are insensible of judgments, either considered as natural or penal evils; if, when they suffer the loss of relations or other troubles, they presently fly to the comforts of the Heathens, that we are all mortal, and what cannot be helped must be endured, without the sense humanity requires; that calm is like that of the Dead Sea,—a real curse: or suppose natural affection works a little, yet there is no apprehension and concernment for God’s displeasure, (which should be infinitely more affecting than any outward trouble how sharp soever,) no serious deep humiliation under his hand, no yielding up ourselves to his management; this most justly provokes him. Of this temper were those described by Jeremiah: “Thou hast stricken them, but they have not grieved; thou hast consumed them, but they have refused to receive correction.” (Jer. 5:3.)

James Nichols, Puritan Sermons, Volume 2 , “How to Bear Afflictions”, (Wheaton, IL: Richard Owen Roberts, Publishers, 1981), 589.

The stanza ends with assurance that she is covered by the mercy of God, she is one the record (roll) of God’s mercy.

Biblical Counseling application: A few points of practical application:

First, unconfessed sin can result in a loss of assurance. While a subjective sensation of assurance is not necessary for salvation, and while it is not always maintained, it can be a source of great joy. For the one who has lost such an understanding the lack of “evidence” can be quite painful.  When responding to a loss of subjective assurance, a turning to God in repentance is appropriate.

In fact, when a brother or sister seems distressed and the reason does not seem immediately clear, unconfessed sin may be at the root. The distress need not be merely a matter of emotion or thought, it may entail physical problems, such as described in Psalm 32.

Second, a troubled conscience is not necessarily the worst the thing. Struggle, doubt and even some depression are not the end of the world. Our immediate response that all unhappiness is bad comes at the cost of a more profound understanding of God.  One who is too quick to push down conscience and troubled thoughts limits spiritual growth.  Some-things are best to struggle through rather than around. While the Christian life is not all one of sorrow, we must not neglect sorrow and struggle as a means of good.

Third, as David Clarkson explains, fear of falling into God’s displeasure can act as  restraint upon sin:

If you fear the withdrawing of his presence or the sense of his favour, this will lead you to mortify sin. For it is sin that makes him depart and leave you; it is sin makes him hide his face, and frown on you, Isa. 59:2.

David Clarkson, The Works of David Clarkson, Volume II, “God’s End in Sending Calamities and Afflictions on His People” (Edinburgh: James Nichol, 1864), 233.

When Sorrows Had Begirt Me Round.3 (Anne Bradstreet)

09 Sunday Sep 2012

Posted by in Anne Bradstreet, Prayer, Psalms, Puritan

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(The entire poem may be found here:

https://memoirandremains.wordpress.com/2012/09/07/when-sorrows-had-begirt-me-round-1-anne-bradstreet/

 

When sorrows had begirt me round,

            And pains within and out

When in my flesh no part was sound

            Then didst thou rid me out.

 

My burning flesh in sweat did boil

            My aching head did break;

From side to side for ease I toil

            So faint I could not speak.

 

Begirt: to compass round about.

Rid me out:  This phrase sounds odd: to rid means to clear something out, to accomplish.

 

The phrase appears in Thomas Ravenscroft’s hymn, “My Lord, My God in all distresse:

 

My Lord my God in all distresse
my hope is all in thee:
Then let no shame my soule oppresse,
nor one take hold on mee.
As thou art just, defend me Lord,
and rid me out of dread:
Give eare and to my sute accord,
and send me helpe at need.

 

http://www2.cpdl.org/wiki/index.php/My_Lord_my_God_in_all_distresse_(Thomas_Ravenscroft)

 

Where is means for God to deliver him from dread.

 

In the West-Country Damosel’s Complaint, it means to take someone’s life:

292A.1            ‘WHEN will your marry me, William,

             And make me your wedded wife?

             Or take you your keen bright sword

             And rid me out of my life.’

 

http://www.sacred-texts.com/neu/eng/child/ch292.htm

For background on the collection which contains this ballad, see here: http://www.colorado.edu/ArtsSciences/CCRH/Ballads/ballads.html

Some of the ballads with contemporary tunes can be found here:

http://www.contemplator.com/child/

 

 

However, such usage still sounds odd: “Thou didst rid me out” sounds almost like Bradstreet claims God killed her; yet, the poem is about deliverance.

 

This precise phrase appears in Sternhold and Hopkins, The Whole Book of Psalms Collected Into English Metre, published 1562. The background and usage of this book about Puritans can read here: http://www.cgmusic.org/library/oldver.htm

 

The 7th stanza of the metrical version of Psalm 32, an individual lament/complaint Psalm that holds much in common with Bradstreet’s poem read as follows:

 

7  When trouble and adversity

       do compass me about,

    Thou art my refuge and my joy,

       and thou didst rid me out.

 

Cloverdale (1535)  translates the verse as follows:

Thou art my defence in the trouble that is come aboute me, O copasse thou me aboute also with the ioye of delyueraunce.

 

The Geneva Bible (much used by the Puritans) has

Thou are my secret place: thou preservest me from trouble: thou compassest me about with joyful deliverance. Selah.

 

Thus, the phrase “rid me out” must mean that she has been delivered from her distress.  In fact, here poem sounds like an application of the 7th stanza of the metrical version of Psalm 32.  The Psalm speaks generally of “trouble and adversity”; Bradstreet speaks of the time of a particular illness.