Upon the Wings He of the Winde rode
Through all the silver Skies, and made
The Azure Cloud, His Chariot, bring
Him to the Mountain of Celestial joyes.
The Prince o’ th’ Aire durst not an arrow spend,
While through His Realm His Chariot did ascend.

Methinks I see Heaven’s sparkling courtiers fly,
In flakes of Glory down Him to attend,
And hear Heart-cramping note of Melody
Surround his Chariot as it did ascend;
Mixing their Music, making ev’ry string
More to enravish as they this tune sing.

God is gone up with a triumphant shout,
The Lord with sounding Trumpets’ melodies.
Sing Praise, sing Praise, sing Praise, sing Praises out,
Unto our King sing Praise seraphic wise!
Lift up your heads, ye lasting Doors, they sing,
and let the King of Glory enter in.

Excerpts from Meditation 20
Edward Taylor
17th Century Puritan Sacred Poet