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PREPARATORY MEDITATIONS, 2D SERIES: 159, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: Pardon my lord, this is my great request
Last Line: Then thou will give mee hid'n mannah t'eate.
Subject(s): Puritans In Literature


Pardon my Lord, this is my great request.
For that thy Table of such Spirituall Cheere
Hath been by me so long a time undresst
My tenderness to the Offender were
A cause of this long intermission
Yet it at length producde Confession.

And now dear Lord, I do return thee praise
For such forbearance and such Victory
Over the powers of darkness, that did raise
The storm to blow the Candle out thereby
But Faith that gains the Conquest over hell
Hath here tryumphd. And born away the bell.

Thou saist thou'lt feed with hidden Mannah them
That in the spiritual Combate overcom.
Give mee I pray this Conquouring Faith and then
I'le sing a Tryumph: it shall be my song.
I honour will my Captain, sing his praise
Who leads me on and in my song him grace.

He in the War knows well us to Command.
The word is very ready in his lip.
He leads us on, when weary bids us stand.
Lets not us fall, although we've many a slipp.
He gives us Heart a grace, come on brave boys
I'le give you Angells, Dainties, heavenly joyes.

He'l feast us now with such a feast as made
George Nevills Feast although prodigeous't were
With dainties, things all fat and * * * * trade
Was but like th'indian broths of Garbag'd deer
With which the Netop entertain his guests
When almost starv'd, yea Welcome Sir, its our Mess.

Ahashuerus his banquet long and linde
And larded too with fatness and the Choicest Wine,
Was but a little milk wash * * * * it lin'd
To be compar'd to this that's all divine.
It is a feast so sweet, so taking flavour,
That make the very Angells mouths to water.

The Table, Benches Chairs and Cushens and
Their Table cloaths and Napkins all of Grace
The drinking Cups and Trenchers all at hand,
Gold hath no market for this feasting place.
The Guests are Saints, the Waiters Angells are
The Entertainment Mannah. Angells fare.

The Drinking Glass is of Sapharin full of Grace.
The Pasty past is of the Wheat of Heaven.
The Holy Ghost managed the Cooke choice place
The Venison its filld with free from Leaven
Was taken in Gods parke and dresst, but where
By Whom it matter not, its Choicest cheare.

Minced pies most choise spic'd with the richest spice
Enriched with the Wealthi'st wine indeed
And plumbt with raisins, those of Paradise
Our Mannah thus prepar'd lets now proceed.
Lord make me then to overcome I 'treat.
Then thou will give mee hid'n mannah t'eate.





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