Faith poems
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The Streams Song
© Lascelles Abercrombie
Make way, make way,
You thwarting stones;
Room for my play,
Serious ones.
With Madness Like to Mine
© Shams al-Din Hafiz
NOT one is filled with madness like to mine
In all the taverns! my soiled robe lies here,
There my neglected book, both pledged for wine.
With dust my heart is thick, that should be clear,
The Bas Bleu: Or, Conversation. Addressed To Mrs. Vesey
© Hannah More
VESEY, of Verse the judge and friend,
Awhile my idle strain attend:
St. Simon And St. Jude
© John Keble
Seest thou, how tearful and alone,
And drooping like a wounded dove,
The Cross in sight, but Jesus gone,
The widowed Church is fain to rove?
Summer Toils
© Kristijonas Donelaitis
"Of course, it is not nice for a gray-headed man,
To be shamed by the work of a young nincompoop,
When he intends to get more dollars for his pay,
And e'en is not ashamed to pry out more seed grain.
O what became of the bewhiskered Prussian days,
When hired help was so cheep and so obedient?
The Ring And The Book - Chapter XI - Guido
© Robert Browning
YOU ARE the Cardinal Acciaiuoli, and you,
Abate Panciatichitwo good Tuscan names:
The Angel In The House. Book II. The Epilogue
© Coventry Kersey Dighton Patmore
I
Ah, dearest Wife, a fresh-lit fire
Sonnet: Beauty Of Her Face
© Dante Alighieri
For certain he hath seen all perfectness
Who among other ladies hath seen mine:
On The Death Of President Garfield
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
FALLEN with autumn's falling leaf
Ere yet his summer's noon was past,
Our friend, our guide, our trusted chief,--
What words can match a woe so vast!
Mart. Lib. I. Epi. 14.
© Richard Lovelace
Casta suo gladium cum traderet Arria Paeto,
Quem de visceribus traxerat ipsa suis;
Si qua fides, vulnus quod feci non dolet, inquit:
Sed quod tu facies, hoc mihi, Paete, dolet.
King Volmer and Elsie
© John Greenleaf Whittier
Where, over heathen doom-rings and gray stones of the Horg,
In its little Christian city stands the church of Vordingborg,
In merry mood King Volmer sat, forgetful of his power,
As idle as the Goose of Gold that brooded on his tower.
Experimentum Crucis
© John Kenyon
With different colour glows each ray
That joins to feed the solar day.
Yet, each commingling as they pass,
They lose distinction in the mass,
Where Iris-hues, grown tintless quite,
Stand wondering at their own pure White.
The Shepherd's Week : Thursday; or, The Spell
© John Gay
Hobnelia.
Hobnelia, seated in a dreary vale,
Don Juan: Canto The Fourteenth
© George Gordon Byron
If from great nature's or our own abyss
Of thought we could but snatch a certainty,
The Three Kings
© Edith Nesbit
WHEN the star in the East was lit to shine
The three kings journeyed to Palestine;
The Pleasures of Memory - Part I.
© Samuel Rogers
Twilight's soft dews steal o'er the village-green,
With magic tints to harmonize the scene.
Still'd is the hum that thro' the hamlet broke,
When round the ruins of their antient oak
Where do you search me
© Kabir
Moko Kahan Dhundhere Bande
Mein To Tere Paas Mein
Na Teerath Mein, Na Moorat Mein
Na Ekant Niwas Mein
The Pennsylvania Pilgrim
© John Greenleaf Whittier
The Pennsylvania Pilgrim
Never in tenderer quiet lapsed the day
From Pennsylvania's vales of spring away,
Where, forest-walled, the scattered hamlets lay
