Faith poems
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London: A Poem, in Imitation of the Third Satire of Juvenal
© Samuel Johnson
Though grief and fondness in my breast rebel,
Flint and Feather
© Emily Pauline Johnson
Ojistoh1.2Of him whose name breathes bravery and life1.3And courage to the tribe that calls him chief.1.4I am Ojistoh, his white star, and he1.5Is land, and lake, and sky--and soul to me.
An Agnostic Hymn
© Huxley Henrietta Anne Heathorn
Oh! not the unreasoning God for me,Foreseeing, knowing allThat in the wondrous world he madeHis creatures should befall.
Stone, Steel, Dominions Pass (XXIV)
© Alfred Edward Housman
Stone, steel, dominions pass, Faith too, no wonder.So leave alone the grass That I am under.All knots that lovers tie Are tied to sever;Here shall your sweetheart lie, Untrue for ever.
A Shropshire Lad LXII: "Terence, this is stupid stuff
© Alfred Edward Housman
"Terence, this is stupid stuff:You eat your victuals fast enough;There can't be much amiss, 'tis clear,To see the rate you drink your beer
The Wreck of the Deutschland (Dec. 6, 7, 1875)
© Gerard Manley Hopkins
[[A-text]]to the happy memory of five Francisan nuns,exiles by the Falck Laws, drowned betweenmidnight & morning of December 7 [[1875]].
The Flâneur
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
I love all sights of earth and skies,From flowers that glow to stars that shine;The comet and the penny show,All curious things, above, below,Hold each in turn my wandering eyes:I claim the Christian Pagan's line,Humani nihil, -- even so, --And is not human life divine?
When soft the western breezes blow,And strolling youths meet sauntering maids,I love to watch the stirring tradesBeneath the Vallombrosa shadesOur much-enduring elms bestow;The vender and his rhetoric's flow,That lambent stream of liquid lies;The bait he dangles from his line,The gudgeon and his gold-washed prize
The Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers in New England
© Felicia Dorothea Hemans
"Look now abroad--another race has fill'dThose populous borders--wide the wood recedes,And town shoots up, and fertile realms are till'd;The land is full of harvests and green meads."--BRYANT
My Dear and Only Love
© James Graham
My dear and only Love, I pray This noble world of theeBe govern'd by no other sway But purest monarchy;For if confusion have a part, Which virtuous souls abhor,And hold a synod in thy heart, I'll never love thee more
The Deserted Village, A Poem
© Oliver Goldsmith
Sweet Auburn! loveliest village of the plain,Where health and plenty cheer'd the labouring swain,Where smiling spring its earliest visit paid,And parting summer's lingering blooms delay'd:Dear lovely bowers of innocence and ease,Seats of my youth, when every sport could please,How often have I loiter'd o'er thy green,Where humble happiness endear'd each scene!How often have I paus'd on every charm,The shelter'd cot, the cultivated farm,The never-failing brook, the busy mill,The decent church that topt the neighbouring hill,The hawthorn bush, with seats beneath the shade,For talking age and whisp'ring lovers made!How often have I blest the coming day,When toil remitting lent its turn to play,And all the village train, from labour free,Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree;While many a pastime circled in the shade,The young contending as the old survey'd;And many a gambol frolick'd o'er the ground,And sleights of art and feats of strength went round;And still, as each repeated pleasure tir'd,Succeeding sports the mirthful band inspir'd;The dancing pair that simply sought renownBy holding out to tire each other down:The swain mistrustless of his smutted face,While secret laughter titter'd round the place;The bashful virgin's sidelong looks of love,The matron's glance that would those looks reprove:These were thy charms, sweet village! sports like theseWith sweet succession, taught e'en toil to please:These round thy bowers their cheerful influence shed,These were thy charms--but all these charms are fled
The Rising Village
© Oliver Goldsmith
Thou dear companion of my early years,Partner of all my boyish hopes and fears,To whom I oft addressed the youthful strain,And sought no other praise than thine to gain;Who oft hast bid me emulate his fameWhose genius formed the glory of our name;Say, when thou canst, in manhood's ripened age,With judgment scan the more aspiring page,Wilt thou accept this tribute of my lay,By far too small thy fondness to repay?Say, dearest Brother, wilt thou now excuseThis bolder flight of my adventurous muse? If, then, adown your cheek a tear should flowFor Auburn's Village, and its speechless woe;If, while you weep, you think the
Homeward Bound
© Gibbon Perceval
It's goodbye now to Africa, but kiss your hand againTo the upland trek and the old trade road and kop and kloof and plain; There's another trek instead for us, And a long strange road ahead for us,But never the old home outspan, however the team may strain
A Sonnet of Faith
© William Gay
I am not daunted by the show of things,Nor do I pass them with averted eyes,Feigning I do not see, nor on the wingsOf fair deluding fancy lightly riseAnd from afar the radiant world beholdIn happy silence spinning smoothly by
Trivia; or, the Art of Walking the Streets of London
© John Gay
Thus far the Muse has trac'd in useful laysThe proper implements for wintry ways;Has taught the walker, with judicious eyes,To read the various warnings of the skies
Cardinal Wolsey to his Dog
© Galt John
Sole remnant of a faithful train,Why lingerest thou when all are gone?Yet would I bribe thee to remainWith all the means I have,--this bone.
Sistrum
© Fuller Margaret
Triune, shaping, restless power,Life-flow from life's natal hour,No music chords are in thy sound;By some thou'rt but a rattle found;Yet, without thy ceaseless motion,To ice would turn their dead devotion
The Doubt of Future Foes
© Elizabeth I
The doubt of future foes exiles my present joy,And wit me warns to shun such snares as threaten mine annoy;For falsehood now doth flow, and subjects' faith doth ebb,Which should not be if reason ruled or wisdom weaved the web
