Poems on the topic: god

Poems on the topic “god” on Poets.by.

AnxiousEmily Dickinson

A Wife -- at daybreak I shall be

A Wife -- at daybreak I shall be -- Sunrise -- Hast thou a Flag for me? At Midnight, I am but a Maid, How short it takes to make a Bride -- Then -- Midnight, I have passed from thee Unto the East, and Victory -- Midnight -- Good Night! I hear them call, The Angels bustle in the Hall -- Softly my Future climbs the Stair, I fumble at my Childhood's prayer So soon to be a Child no more -- Eternity, I'm coming -- Sire, Savior -- I've seen the face -- before!
ContemplativeElizabeth Barrett Browning

A Musical Instrument

What was he doing, the great god Pan, Down in the reeds by the river? Spreading ruin and scattering ban, Splashing and paddling with hoofs of a goat, And breaking the golden lilies afloat With the dragon-fly on the river. He tore out a reed, the great god Pan, From the deep cool bed of the river: The limpid water turbidly ran, And the broken lilies a-dying lay, And the dragon-fly had fled away, Ere he brought it out of the river. High on the shore sat the great god Pan, While turbidly flowed the river; And hacked and hewed as a great god can, With his hard bleak steel at the patient reed,
CheerfulCharles Kingsley

Easter Week

See the land, her Easter keeping, Rises as her Maker rose. Seeds, so long in darkness sleeping, Burst at last from winter snows. Earth with heaven above rejoices; Fields and gardens hail the spring; Shaughs and woodlands ring with voices, While the wild birds build and sing. You, to whom your Maker granted Powers to those sweet birds unknown, Use the craft by God implanted; Use the reason not your own. Here, while heaven and earth rejoices, Each his Easter tribute bring- Work of fingers, chant of voices, Like the birds who build and sing.
AnxiousBen Jonson

To Heaven

Good and great God, can I not think of thee But it must straight my melancholy be? Is it interpreted in me disease That, laden with my sins, I seek for ease? Oh be thou witness, that the reins dost know And hearts of all, if I be sad for show, And judge me after; if I dare pretend To ought but grace or aim at other end. As thou art all, so be thou all to me, First, midst, and last, converted one, and three; My faith, my hope, my love; and in this state My judge, my witness, and my advocate. Where have I been this while exil'd from thee? And whither rap'd, now thou but stoop'st to me? Dwell, dwell here still. O, being everywhere, How can I doubt to find thee ever here?
ContemplativeArthur Hugh Clough

Across the Sea Along the Shore

Across the sea, along the shore, In numbers more and ever more, From lonely hut and busy town, The valley through, the mountain down, What was it ye went out to see, Ye silly folk Galilee? The reed that in the wind doth shake? The weed that washes in the lake? The reeds that waver, the weeds that float? A young man preaching in a boat. What was it ye went out to hear By sea and land from far and near? A teacher? Rather seek the feet Of those who sit in Moses' seat. Go humbly seek, and bow to them, Far off in great Jerusalem.
CheerfulAnne Bronte

In Memory of a Happy Day in February

Blessed be Thou for all the joy My soul has felt today! O let its memory stay with me And never pass away! I was alone, for those I loved Were far away from me, The sun shone on the withered grass, The wind blew fresh and free. Was it the smile of early spring That made my bosom glow? 'Twas sweet, but neither sun nor wind Could raise my spirit so. Was it some feeling of delight, All vague and undefined? No, 'twas a rapture deep and strong, Expanding in the mind!
AnxiousAnne Bronte

A Prayer

My God (oh, let me call Thee mine, Weak, wretched sinner though I be), My trembling soul would fain be Thine; My feeble faith still clings to Thee. Not only for the Past I grieve, The Future fills me with dismay; Unless Thou hasten to relieve, Thy suppliant is a castaway. I cannot say my faith is strong, I dare not hope my love is great; But strength and love to Thee belong; Oh, do not leave me desolate! I know I owe my all to Thee; Oh, TAKE the heart I cannot give! Do Thou my strength--my Saviour be, And MAKE me to Thy glory live.
AnxiousAnne Bradstreet

Upon My Dear and Loving Husband his Going into England Jan. 16

O thou Most High who rulest all And hear'st the prayers of thine, O hearken, Lord, unto my suit And my petition sign. Into Thy everlasting arms Of mercy I commend Thy servant, Lord. Keep and preserve My husband, my dear friend. At Thy command, O Lord, he went, Nor nought could keep him back. Then let Thy promise joy his heart, O help and be not slack. Uphold my heart in Thee, O God. Thou art my strength and stay, Thou see'st how weak and frail I am, Hide not Thy face away.
ContemplativeAlexander Pope

Epitaph. on Mr Elijah Fenton, at Easthamstead, in Berks, 1730.

This modest stone, what few vain marbles can, May truly say, Here lies an honest man: A poet, blest beyond the poet's fate, Whom Heaven kept sacred from the proud and great: Foe to loud praise, and friend to learnèd ease, Content with science in the vale of peace. Calmly he look'd on either life, and here Saw nothing to regret, or there to fear; From Nature's temperate feast rose satisfied, Thank'd Heaven that he had lived, and that he died.
ContemplativeAlexander Pope

Epitaph. on Mrs Corbet, Who Died of a Cancer in Her Breast.

Here rests a woman, good without pretence, Blest with plain reason, and with sober sense: No conquests she, but o'er herself, desired, No arts essay'd, but not to be admired. Passion and pride were to her soul unknown, Convinced that virtue only is our own. So unaffected, so composed a mind; So firm, yet soft; so strong, yet so refined; Heaven, as its purest gold, by tortures tried; The saint sustain'd it, but the woman died.
ContemplativeAlan Seeger

I Have A Rendezvous With Death

I have a rendezvous with Death At some disputed barricade, When Spring comes back with rustling shade And apple-blossoms fill the air— I have a rendezvous with Death When Spring brings back blue days and fair. It may be he shall take my hand And lead me into his dark land And close my eyes and quench my breath— It may be I shall pass him still. I have a rendezvous with Death On some scarred slope of battered hill When Spring comes round again this year And the first meadow-flowers appear. God knows 'twere better to be deep Pillowed in silk and scented down,

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