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Best Famous Faith Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Faith poems. This is a select list of the best famous Faith poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Faith poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of faith poems.

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by Elizabeth Barrett Browning | |

How Do I Love Thee?

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of every day's Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right; I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love with a passion put to use In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose With my lost saints, I love thee with the breath, Smiles, tears, of all my life! and, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death.


by Thomas Moore | |

Believe Me If All Those Endearing Young Charms

Believe me, if all those endearing young charms,
   Which I gaze on so fondly today,
Were to change by tomorrow, and fleet in my arms,
   Like fairy-gifts fading away,
Thou wouldst still be adored, as this moment thou art,
   Let thy loveliness fade as it will,
And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart
   Would entwine itself verdantly still.
It is not while beauty and youth are thine own, And thy cheeks unprofaned by a tear That the fervor and faith of a soul can be known, To which time will but make thee more dear; No, the heart that has truly loved never forgets, But as truly loves on to the close, As the sunflower turns on her god, when he sets, The same look which she turned when he rose.


by Richard Wilbur | |

Matthew VIII28 ff.

 Rabbi, we Gadarenes
Are not ascetics; we are fond of wealth and possessions.
Love, as You call it, we obviate by means Of the planned release of aggressions.
We have deep faith in properity.
Soon, it is hoped, we will reach our full potential.
In the light of our gross product, the practice of charity Is palpably non-essential.
It is true that we go insane; That for no good reason we are possessed by devils; That we suffer, despite the amenities which obtain At all but the lowest levels.
We shall not, however, resign Our trust in the high-heaped table and the full trough.
If You cannot cure us without destroying our swine, We had rather You shoved off.


by Constantine P Cavafy | |

Manuel Komninos

 One dreary September day
Emperor Manuel Komninos
felt his death was near.
The court astrologers -bribed, of course- went on babbling about how many years he still had to live.
But while they were having their say, he remebered an old religious custom and ordered ecclesiastical vestments to be brought from a monastery, and he put them on, glad to assume the modest image of a priest or monk.
Happy all those who believe, and like Emperor Manuel end their lives dressed modestly in their faith.


by G K Chesterton | |

A Hymn

 O God of earth and altar, 
Bow down and hear our cry, 
Our earthly rulers falter, 
Our people drift and die; 
The walls of gold entomb us, 
The swords of scorn divide, 
Take not thy thunder from us, 
But take away our pride.
From all that terror teaches, From lies of tongue and pen, From all the easy speeches That comfort cruel men, From sale and profanation Of honour and the sword, From sleep and from damnation, Deliver us, good Lord.
Tie in a living tether The prince and priest and thrall, Bind all our lives together, Smite us and save us all; In ire and exultation Aflame with faith, and free, Lift up a living nation, A single sword to thee.


by Walter Savage Landor | |

Of Clementina

 In Clementina’s artless mien
Lucilla asks me what I see,
And are the roses of sixteen
Enough for me?

Lucilla asks, if that be all,
Have I not cull’d as sweet before:
Ah yes, Lucilla! and their fall
I still deplore.
I now behold another scene, Where Pleasure beams with Heaven’s own light, More pure, more constant, more serene, And not less bright.
Faith, on whose breast the Loves repose, Whose chain of flowers no force can sever, And Modesty who, when she goes, Is gone for ever.


by William Henry Davies | |

The Boy

 Go, little boy, 
Fill thee with joy; 
For Time gives thee 
Unlicensed hours, 
To run in fields, 
And roll in flowers.
A little boy Can life enjoy; If but to see The horses pass, When shut indoors Behind the glass.
Go, little boy, Fill thee with joy; Fear not, like man, The kick of wrath, That you do lie In some one's path.
Time is to thee Eternity, As to a bird Or butterfly; And in that faith True joy doth lie.


by Helen Hunt Jackson | |

Doubt

 1 They bade me cast the thing away, 
2 They pointed to my hands all bleeding,
3 They listened not to all my pleading;
4 The thing I meant I could not say;
5 I knew that I should rue the day
6 If once I cast that thing away.
7 I grasped it firm, and bore the pain; 8 The thorny husks I stripped and scattered; 9 If I could reach its heart, what mattered 10 If other men saw not my gain, 11 Or even if I should be slain? 12 I knew the risks; I chose the pain.
13 O, had I cast that thing away, 14 I had not found what most I cherish, 15 A faith without which I should perish,-- 16 The faith which, like a kernel, lay 17 Hid in the husks which on that day 18 My instinct would not throw away!


by John Greenleaf Whittier | |

By Their Works

 Call him not heretic whose works attest
His faith in goodness by no creed confessed.
Whatever in love's name is truly done To free the bound and lift the fallen one Is done to Christ.
Whoso in deed and word Is not against Him labours for our Lord.
When he, who, sad and weary, longing sore For love's sweet service sought the sisters' door One saw the heavenly, one the human guest But who shall say which loved the master best?


by Edwin Arlington Robinson | |

Zola

 Because he puts the compromising chart 
Of hell before your eyes, you are afraid; 
Because he counts the price that you have paid 
For innocence, and counts it from the start, 
You loathe him.
But he sees the human heart Of God meanwhile, and in His hand was weighed Your squeamish and emasculate crusade Against the grim dominion of his art.
Never until we conquer the uncouth Connivings of our shamed indifference (We call it Christian faith) are we to scan The racked and shrieking hideousness of Truth To find, in hate’s polluted self-defence Throbbing, the pulse, the divine heart of man.


by Edwin Arlington Robinson | |

Walt Whitman

 The master-songs are ended, and the man
That sang them is a name.
And so is God A name; and so is love, and life, and death, And everything.
But we, who are too blind To read what we have written, or what faith Has written for us, do not understand: We only blink, and wonder.
Last night it was the song that was the man, But now it is the man that is the song.
We do not hear him very much to-day: His piercing and eternal cadence rings Too pure for us --- too powerfully pure, Too lovingly triumphant, and too large; But there are some that hear him, and they know That he shall sing to-morrow for all men, And that all time shall listen.
The master-songs are ended? Rather say No songs are ended that are ever sung, And that no names are dead names.
When we write Men's letters on proud marble or on sand, We write them there forever.


by Edwin Arlington Robinson | |

Calvary

 Friendless and faint, with martyred steps and slow, 
Faint for the flesh, but for the spirit free, 
Stung by the mob that came to see the show, 
The Master toiled along to Calvary; 
We gibed him, as he went, with houndish glee, 
Till his dimmed eyes for us did overflow; 
We cursed his vengeless hands thrice wretchedly, -- 
And this was nineteen hundred years ago.
But after nineteen hundred years the shame Still clings, and we have not made good the loss That outraged faith has entered in his name.
Ah, when shall come love's courage to be strong! Tell me, O Lord -- tell me, O Lord, how long Are we to keep Christ writhing on the cross!


by Edwin Arlington Robinson | |

Exit

 For what we owe to other days, 
Before we poisoned him with praise, 
May we who shrank to find him weak 
Remember that he cannot speak.
For envy that we may recall, And for our faith before the fall, May we who are alive be slow To tell what we shall never know.
For penance he would not confess, And for the fateful emptiness Of early triumph undermined, May we now venture to be kind.


by Edwin Arlington Robinson | |

Siege Perilous

 Long warned of many terrors more severe 
To scorch him than hell’s engines could awaken, 
He scanned again, too far to be so near, 
The fearful seat no man had ever taken.
So many other men with older eyes Than his to see with older sight behind them Had known so long their one way to be wise,— Was any other thing to do than mind them? So many a blasting parallel had seared Confusion on his faith,—could he but wonder If he were mad and right, or if he feared God’s fury told in shafted flame and thunder? There fell one day upon his eyes a light Ethereal, and he heard no more men speaking; He saw their shaken heads, but no long sight Was his but for the end that he went seeking.
The end he sought was not the end; the crown He won shall unto many still be given.
Moreover, there was reason here to frown: No fury thundered, no flame fell from heaven.


by Ella Wheeler Wilcox | |

Begin The Day

 Begin each morning with a talk to God,
And ask for your divine inheritance
Of usefulness, contentment, and success.
Resign all fear, all doubt, and all despair.
The stars doubt not, and they are undismayed, Though whirled through space for countless centuries, And told not why or wherefore: and the sea With everlasting ebb and flow obeys, And leaves the purpose with the unseen Cause.
The star sheds its radiance on a million worlds, The sea is prodigal with waves, and yet No lustre from the star is lost, and not One dropp missing from the ocean tides.
Oh! brother to the star and sea, know all God’s opulence is held in trust for those Who wait serenely and who work in faith.


by Ella Wheeler Wilcox | |

Philosophy

 At morn the wise man walked abroad, 
Proud with the learning of great fools.
He laughed and said, ‘There is no God – ‘Tis force creates, ‘tis reason rules.
’ Meek with the wisdom of great faith, At night he knelt while angels smiled, And wept and cried with anguished breath, ‘Jehovah, God, save Thou my child.


by Ella Wheeler Wilcox | |

Recompense

 Straight through my heart this fact to-day, 
By Truth’s own hand is driven: 
God never takes one thing away, 
But something else is given.
I did not know in earlier years, This law of love and kindness; I only mourned through bitter tears My loss, in sorrow’s blindness.
But, ever following each regret O’er some departed treasure, My sad repining heart was met With unexpected pleasure.
I thought is only happened so; But time this truth taught me – No least thing from my life can go, But something else is brought to me.
It is the Law, complete, sublime; And now, with Faith unshaken, In patience I but bide my time When any joy is taken.
No matter if the crushing blow May for the moment down me, Still, back of it waits Love, I know With some new gift to crown me.


by Friedrich von Schiller | |

Light And Warmth

 In cheerful faith that fears no ill
The good man doth the world begin;
And dreams that all without shall still
Reflect the trusting soul within.
Warm with the noble vows of youth, Hallowing his true arm to the truth; Yet is the littleness of all So soon to sad experience shown, That crowds but teach him to recall And centre thought on self alone; Till love, no more, emotion knows, And the heart freezes to repose.
Alas! though truth may light bestow, Not always warmth the beams impart, Blest he who gains the boon to know, Nor buys the knowledge with the heart.
For warmth and light a blessing both to be, Feel as the enthusiast--as the world-wise see.


by Friedrich von Schiller | |

The Philosophical Egotist

 Hast thou the infant seen that yet, unknowing of the love
Which warms and cradles, calmly sleeps the mother's heart above--
Wandering from arm to arm, until the call of passion wakes,
And glimmering on the conscious eye--the world in glory breaks?

And hast thou seen the mother there her anxious vigil keep?
Buying with love that never sleeps the darling's happy sleep?
With her own life she fans and feeds that weak life's trembling rays,
And with the sweetness of the care, the care itself repays.
And dost thou Nature then blaspheme--that both the child and mother Each unto each unites, the while the one doth need the other?-- All self-sufficing wilt thou from that lovely circle stand-- That creature still to creature links in faith's familiar band? Ah! dar'st thou, poor one, from the rest thy lonely self estrange? Eternal power itself is but all powers in interchange!


by Friedrich von Schiller | |

The Maid Of Orleans

 Humanity's bright image to impair.
Scorn laid thee prostrate in the deepest dust; Wit wages ceaseless war on all that's fair,-- In angel and in God it puts no trust; The bosom's treasures it would make its prey,-- Besieges fancy,--dims e'en faith's pure ray.
Yet issuing like thyself from humble line, Like thee a gentle shepherdess is she-- Sweet poesy affords her rights divine, And to the stars eternal soars with thee.
Around thy brow a glory she hath thrown; The heart 'twas formed thee,--ever thou'lt live on! The world delights whate'er is bright to stain, And in the dust to lay the glorious low; Yet fear not! noble bosoms still remain, That for the lofty, for the radiant glow Let Momus serve to fill the booth with mirth; A nobler mind loves forms of nobler worth.