Prologue, by Edward Taylor

   Here is someone else's work for a change. Below are the last 3 stanzas of a poem by English-born American poet, Edward Taylor (1642-1729). The Poetry Foundation website I linked his name to gives details about his life and a long explanation of his major works, but if you want the bare facts he was born in England to a weaver father, moved to America for religious freedom, and was the minister of a church there for more than half his life.

"I am this crumb of dust which is designed 

To make my pen unto Thy praise alone,

And my dull fancy I would gladly grind

Unto an edge on Zion's precious stone;

And write in liquid gold upon Thy name

My letters till Thy glory forth doth flame.

Let not th' attempts break down my dust I pray,

Nor laugh Thou them to scorn, but pardon give.

Inspire this crumb of dust till it display

Thy glory through't: and then Thy dust shall live.

Its failings then Thou'lt overlook, I trust,

They being slips slipped from Thy crumb of dust.

Thy crumb of dust breathes two words from its breast,

That Thou wilt guide its pen to write aright

To prove Thou art and that Thou art the best

And shew Thy prosperties to shine most bright.

And then Thy works will shine as flowers on stems

Or as in jewelary shops do gems."

--Edward Taylor