Faith poems
/ page 122 of 262 /
The Hour And The Ghost
© Christina Georgina Rossetti
I have thee close, my dear,
No terror can come near;
Only far off the northern light shines clear.
Boston Hymn
© Ralph Waldo Emerson
The word of the Lord by night
To the watching Pilgrims came,
As they sat by the seaside,
And filled their hearts with flame.
The Ship-Builders
© John Greenleaf Whittier
THE sky is ruddy in the east,
The earth is gray below,
And, spectral in the river-mist,
The ship's white timbers show.
Canto 1: Narad
© Valmiki
To sainted Nárad, prince of those
Whose lore in words of wisdom flows.
Whose constant care and chief delight
Were Scripture and ascetic rite,
In Memoriam
© Emma Lazarus
O FRIEND who passed away while flowers died,
Now that the land bursts into bloom again,
With vivid blossoms o'er the landscape wide,
Purple and white 'mongst, grasses golden-eyed,
In beauteous resurrection o'er the plain,
Pennsylvania Hall
© John Greenleaf Whittier
NOT with the splendors of the days of old,
The spoil of nations, and barbaric gold;
No weapons wrested from the fields of blood,
Where dark and stern the unyielding Roman stood,
The Thrush In February
© George Meredith
I know him, February's thrush,
And loud at eve he valentines
On sprays that paw the naked bush
Where soon will sprout the thorns and bines.
Fainting by the Way
© Henry Kendall
Swarthy wastelands, wide and woodless, glittering miles and miles away,
Where the south wind seldom wanders and the winters will not stay;
The Battle of Life
© Charles Harpur
Rail not at Fate: if rightly you scan her,
Theres none loves more strongly the heart that endures:
On, in the heros calm resolute manner,
Still bear aloft your hopes long-trusted banner,
And the day, if you do but live through it, is yours.
The Fan : A Poem. Book II.
© John Gay
But see, fair Venus comes in all her state;
The wanton Loves and Graces round her wait;
With her loose robe officious Zephyrs play,
And strow with odoriferous flowers the way.
In her right hand she waves the fluttering fan,
And thus in melting sounds her speech began.
The Law Of Death
© John Hay
But when she saw her child was dead,
She scattered ashes on her head,
And seized the small corpse, pale and sweet,
And rushing wildly through the street,
She sobbing fell at Buddha's feet.
Beranger's "To My Old Coat"
© Eugene Field
Still serve me in my age, I pray,
As in my youth, O faithful one;
Between The Gates
© John Greenleaf Whittier
Between the gates of birth and death
An old and saintly pilgrim passed,
With look of one who witnesseth
The long-sought goal at last.
A Lamentacioun Of The Grene Tree, Complaynyng Of The Losyng Of Hire Appill.
© Thomas Hoccleve
Ofader god, how fers & how cruel, In whom the list or wilt, canst þou the make!Whom wilt thu spare? ne wot I neuere a deel,Sithe thu thi sone hast to the deth be-take,That the offended neuere, ne dide wrake, Or mystook him to the, or disobeyde,Ne to non othere dide he harm, or seide.
I had ioye éntiere, & also gladnesse, Whan þou be-took him me to clothe & wrappeIn mannës flesch. I wend, in sothfastnesse,Have had for euere Ioyë be the lappe;But now hath sorwe caught me with his trappe; Mi ioye hath made a permutaciounWith wepyng & eek lamentacioun.
Her First Season
© William Michael Rossetti
He gazed her over, from her eyebrows down
Even to her feet: he gazed so with the good
On A Dog
© John Kenyon
Thy happy years of deep affection past,
Cartouche! our faithful friend, rest hereat last.
We loved thee for a love man scarce might mate;
And now we place thee here with sadness, great
As man may own for brute. Might less be given
To love so pure as thine and so unriven?
The Temple of Fame
© Alexander Pope
In that soft season, when descending show'rs
Call forth the greens, and wake the rising flow'rs;
