Faith poems
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The Golden Age
© Alfred Austin
Nor this the worst! When ripened Shame would hide
Fruits of that hour when Passion conquered Pride,
There are not wanting in this Christian land
The breast remorseless and the Thuggish hand,
To advertise the dens where Death is sold,
And quench the breath of baby-life for gold!
Gotham - Book I
© Charles Churchill
Far off (no matter whether east or west,
A real country, or one made in jest,
Commanders Of The Faithful
© William Makepeace Thackeray
The Pope he is a happy man,
His Palace is the Vatican,
And there he sits and drains his can:
The Pope he is a happy man.
I often say when I'm at home,
I'd like to be the Pope of Rome.
By The Grave
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
THIS is the place--I pray thee, friend,
Leave me alone with that dread grief,
Whose raven wings o'erarch the grave,
Closed on a life how sad and brief!
Our Saviours Boyhood
© Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
With what a flood of wondrous thoughts
Each Christian breast must swell
When, wandering back through ages past,
With simple faith they dwell
On quiet Nazareths sacred sod,
Where the Child Saviours footsteps trod.
Her Eyes
© Madison Julius Cawein
In her dark eyes dreams poetize;
The soul sits lost in love:
There is no thing in all the skies,
To gladden all the world I prize,
Like the deep love in her dark eyes,
Or one sweet dream thereof.
Senex To His Friend
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
YOUR hair is scant, my friend, and mine is scanter,
On heads snowed white by Time, the disenchanter;
In place of joyous beams and jovial twinkles,
Behold, old boy, our faces scored with wrinkles!
The Borough. Letter XV: Inhabitants Of The Alms-House. Clelia
© George Crabbe
Another term is past; ten other years
In various trials, troubles, views, and fears:
Of these some pass'd in small attempts at trade;
Houses she kept for widowers lately made;
For now she said, "They'll miss th' endearing
Fairy Favours
© Felicia Dorothea Hemans
Wouldst thou wear the gift of immortal bloom?
Wouldst thou smile in scorn at the shadowy tomb?
Drink of this cup! it is richly fraught
With balm from the gardens of genii brought;
Drink, and the spoiler shall pass thee by,
When the young all scatter'd like rose-leaves lie.
A Thousand Years From Now
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
I SAT within my tranquil room;
The twilight shadows sank and rose
With slowly flickering motions, waved
Grotesquely through the dusk repose;
Mrs. Malone And The Censor
© Edgar Albert Guest
When Mrs. Malone got a letter from Pat
She started to read it aloud in her flat.
Brothers
© James Weldon Johnson
See! There he stands; not brave, but with an air
Of sullen stupor. Mark him well! Is he
Not more like brute than man? Look in his eye!
No light is there; none, save the glint that shines
In the now glaring, and now shifting orbs
Of some wild animal caught in the hunter's trap.
The Battle Of Moncontour
© Thomas Babbington Macaulay
Oh, weep for Moncontour! Oh! weep for the hour,
When the children of darkness and evil had power,
When the horsemen of Valois triumphantly trod
On the bosoms that bled for their rights and their God.
Lycus the Centaur
© Thomas Hood
FROM AN UNROLLED MANUSCRIPT OF APOLLONIUS CURIUS
(The Argument: Lycus, detained by Circe in her magical dominion, is beloved by a Water Nymph, who, desiring to render him immortal, has recourse to the Sorceress. Circe gives her an incantation to pronounce, which should turn Lycus into a horse; but the horrible effect of the charm causing her to break off in the midst, he becomes a Centaur).
The Tendril's Faith
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
A under the snow in the dark and the cold,
pale little sprout was humming;
Solomon on the Vanity of the World, A Poem. In Three Books. - Power. Book III.
© Matthew Prior
Come then, my soul: I call thee by that name,
Thou busy thing, from whence I know I am;
For, knowing that I am, I know thou art,
Since that must needs exist which can impart:
But how thou camest to be, or whence thy spring,
For various of thee priests and poets sing.
The Hills
© Madison Julius Cawein
There is no joy of earth that thrills
My bosom like the far-off hills!
He found my Beingset it up
© Emily Dickinson
He found my Beingset it up
Adjusted it to place
Then carved his nameupon it
And bade it to the East
