Faith poems

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In Praise of Mandragora

© Muriel Stuart

O, MANDRAGORA, many sing in praise
Of life, and death, and immortality,-
Of passion, that goes famished all her days,-
Of Faith, or fantasy;
Thou, all unpraised, unsung, I make this rhyme to thee.

[Image][Image][Image][Image][Image] May my fears,
My filial fears, be vain ! and may the vaunts
And menace of the vengeful enemy
Pass like the gust, that roared and died away
In the distant tree : which heard, and only heard
In this low dell, bowed not the delicate grass.

Pensive On Her Dead Gazing, I Heard The Mother Of All

© Walt Whitman

PENSIVE, on her dead gazing, I heard the Mother of All,

Desperate, on the torn bodies, on the forms covering the battle-

Let such pure hate still underprop

© Henry David Thoreau

Let such pure hate still underprop
Our love, that we may be
Each other's conscience,
And have our sympathy
Mainly from thence.

Prayer

© Henry David Thoreau

That my weak hand may equal my firm faith
And my life practice what my tongue saith
That my low conduct may not show
Nor my relenting lines
That I thy purpose did not know
Or overrated thy designs.

Inspiration

© Henry David Thoreau

But if with bended neck I grope
Listening behind me for my wit,
With faith superior to hope,
More anxious to keep back than forward it;

Composed In Autumn

© Paul Hamilton Hayne

WITH these dead leaves stripped from a withered tree,
And slowly fluttering round us, gentle friend,
Some faithless soul a sad presage might blend;
To me they bring a happier augury;

Resolution And Independence

© William Wordsworth

I There was a roaring in the wind all night;
The rain came heavily and fell in floods;
But now the sun is rising calm and bright;
The birds are singing in the distant woods;

Lines Written In Early Spring

© William Wordsworth

I heard a thousand blended notes,
While in a grove I sate reclined,
In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts
Bring sad thoughts to the mind.

Paradise Lost : Book V.

© John Milton

Now Morn, her rosy steps in the eastern clime

Advancing, sowed the earth with orient pearl,

Fear

© Edith Nesbit

If you were here,

Hopes, dreams, ambitions, faith would disappear,

Voices Of The Night : Flowers

© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Spake full well, in language quaint and olden,
One who dwelleth by the Castle Rhine,
When he called the flowers, so blue and golden
Stars, that in the earth's firmament do shine.

Every Thing

© Harold Monro

The Kettle puffed a tentacle of breath : --
' Pooh! I have boiled his water, I don't know
Why; and he always says I boil too slow,
He never calls me "Sukie, dear," and oh,
I wonder why I squander my desire
Sitting submissive on his fire.'

Somnium Mystici

© George MacDonald

A Microcosm In Terza Rima

The Ring And The Book - Chapter VII - Pompilia

There,
Strength comes already with the utterance!
I will remember once more for his sake
The sorrow: for he lives and is belied.
Could he be here, how he would speak for me!

The Touchstone

© Edith Nesbit

There was a garden, very strange and fair
With all the roses summer never brings.
The snowy blossom of immortal Springs
Lighted its boughs, and I, even I, was there.
There were new heavens, and the earth was new,
And still I told my heart the dream was true.