Faith poems
/ page 113 of 262 /
The Legend of the Foreign Office
© Rudyard Kipling
Rajah of Kolazai,
Drinketh the "simpkin" and brandy peg,
Maketh the money to fly,
Vexeth a Government, tender and kind,
Also - but this is a detail - blind.
Elegiacs
© Charles Kingsley
Wearily stretches the sand to the surge, and the surge to the cloudland;
Wearily onward I ride, watching the water alone.
The Princess (part 5)
© Alfred Tennyson
Home they brought her warrior dead:
She nor swooned, nor uttered cry:
All her maidens, watching, said,
'She must weep or she will die.'
The Castle-Builder. (Birds Of Passage. Flight The Third)
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
A gentle boy, with soft and silken locks,
A dreamy boy, with brown and tender eyes,
A castle-builder, with his wooden blocks,
And towers that touch imaginary skies.
The Lost Galleon
© Francis Bret Harte
In sixteen hundred and forty-one,
The regular yearly galleon,
Laden with odorous gums and spice,
India cottons and India rice,
And the richest silks of far Cathay,
Was due at Acapulco Bay.
Mr. Hosea Biglow To The Editor Of The Atlantic Monthly
© James Russell Lowell
DEAR SIR,--Your letter come to han'
Requestin' me to please be funny;
Weltschmertz
© Paul Laurence Dunbar
You ask why I am sad to-day,
I have no cares, no griefs, you say?
Ah, yes, 't is true, I have no grief--
But--is there not the falling leaf?
Two Visits To A Grave
© Richard Monckton Milnes
I stood by the grave of one beloved,
On a chill and windless night,--
When not a blade of grass was moved,
In its rigid sheath of white.
Orpheus
© Emma Lazarus
ORPHEUS.
LAUGHTER and dance, and sounds of harp and lyre,
Piping of flutes, singing of festal songs,
Ribbons of flame from flaunting torches, dulled
The Passionate Pilgrim
© William Shakespeare
Her lips to mine how often hath she joined,
Between each kiss her oaths of true love swearing!
How many tales to please me bath she coined,
Dreading my love, the loss thereof still fearing!
Yet in the midst of all her pure protestings,
Her faith, her oaths, her tears, and all were jestings.
The Lady of the Lake: Canto VI. - The Guardroom
© Sir Walter Scott
Our vicar still preaches that Peter and Poule
Laid a swinging long curse on the bonny brown bowl,
That there 's wrath and despair in the jolly black-jack,
And the seven deadly sins in a flagon of sack;
Yet whoop, Barnaby! off with thy liquor,
Drink upsees out, and a fig for the vicar!
Slow Through The Dark
© Paul Laurence Dunbar
Slow moves the pageant of a climbing race;
Their footsteps drag far, far below the height,
The Oak Of Guernica Supposed Address To The Same
© William Wordsworth
OAK of Guernica! Tree of holier power
Than that which in Dodona did enshrine
(So faith too fondly deemed) a voice divine
Heard from the depths of its aerial bower--
Silence
© Peter McArthur
One who was skilled in runes the gravings read,
And learned the wondrous image was the god
Of endless Silence. The searchers mutely bowed,
And mourned that faith so lofty should be dead;
And I their prone idolatry applaud
When strife and tumult in my paths are loud.
At The Gate Of The Convent
© Alfred Austin
Beside the Convent Gate I stood,
Lingering to take farewell of those
To whom I owed the simple good
Of three days' peace, three nights' repose.
Sonnet XVI. From Petrarch
© Charlotte Turner Smith
YE vales and woods! fair scenes of happier hours!
Ye feather'd people, tenants of the grove!
And you, bright stream! befringed with shrubs and flowers,
Behold my grief, ye witnesses of love!
An Apology For The Clergy,
© Mary Barber
How well these Laymen love to gibe,
And throw their Jests on Levi's Tribe!
Must One be toil'd to Death, they cry,
Whilst other Priests are yawning by?
Forgetful that He reaps the Gain,
Why should They waste their Lungs in vain?
A Winter Walk
© Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
WE never had believed, I wis,
At primrose time when west winds stole
Like thoughts of youth across the soul,
In such an altered time as this,
