Faith poems

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A Harvest Scene

© Gilbert White

Wak'd by the gentle gleamings of the morn,

Soon clad, the reaper, provident of want

Ode To A Butterfly

© Thomas Wentworth Higginson

Thou spark of life that wavest wings of gold,

Thou songless wanderer mid the songful birds,

Demon

© Alexander Pushkin

In bygone days when life's array -

The sweet song of the nightingale

Our ship lay tumbling in an angry sea,
Her rudder gone, her mainmast o'er the side;
Her scuppers, from the waves' clutch staggering free,
Trailed threads of priceless crimson through the tide;
Sails, shrouds, and spars with pirate cannon torn,
We lay, awaiting morn.

Vision of Columbus Book 2

© Joel Barlow

High o'er the changing scene, as thus he gazed,

The indulgent Power his arm sublimely raised;

From Mount Gerizzim

© John Bunyan

Besides what I said of the Four Last Things,

And of the weal and woe that from them springs;

Epitaph

© John Kenyon

Riches I had! they faded from my view
And troops of friends! but they deceived me too
And fame! it came and wenta very breath;
While faith stood firm, and soothed the hour of death.

The Cap And Bells; Or, The Jealousies: A Faery Tale -- Unfinished

© John Keats

I.

In midmost Ind, beside Hydaspes cool,

Ode XI: To The Country Gentlemen Of England

© Mark Akenside

I.

Whither is Europe's ancient spirit fled?

The Puritans' Christmas

© Madison Julius Cawein

Their only thought religion,
What Christmas joys had they,
The stern, staunch Pilgrim Fathers who
Knew naught of holiday?--

We, Who Were Slain In Unlit Pathways

© Faiz Ahmed Faiz

Wishing for the roses of your lips
we offered ourselves to a gallows' twig
Longing for the radiance of your glowing hands
we let ourselves be slain in unlit pathways

Of The Death Of Sir Thomas Wyatt The Elder

© Henry Howard

Wyatt resteth here, that quick could never rest;
Whose heavenly gifts increased by disdain,
And virtue sank the deeper in his breast;
Such profit he by envy could obtain.

An Evening Thought

Salvation comes by Jesus Christ alone,

The only Son of God;

The Horologe Of The Fields

Addressed to a Young Lady, on seeing at the House of an

Acquaintance a magnificent French Timepiece.

The Resting-Place

Calmly the Paschal moonlight now is sleeping
On mossy hillock and on headstone grey,
Where still our Mother holds in faithful keeping
Such as, while living, in her dear arms lay.
Ah! loving and beloved, we know ye rest,
E'en in the grave, upon her hallow'd breast.