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Best Famous Jesus Poems

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

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Written by Allen Ginsberg |

In The Back of the Real

railroad yard in San Jose 
I wandered desolate 
in front of a tank factory 
and sat on a bench 
near the switchman's shack.
A flower lay on the hay on the asphalt highway --the dread hay flower I thought--It had a brittle black stem and corolla of yellowish dirty spikes like Jesus' inchlong crown, and a soiled dry center cotton tuft like a used shaving brush that's been lying under the garage for a year.
Yellow, yellow flower, and flower of industry, tough spiky ugly flower, flower nonetheless, with the form of the great yellow Rose in your brain! This is the flower of the World.

Written by Isaac Watts |

Examples of Early Piety

 What blest examples do I find
Writ in the Word of Truth
Of children that began to mind
Religion in their youth!

Jesus, who reigns above the sky,
And keeps the world in awe,
Was once a child as young as I,
And kept His Father's law.
At twelve years old he talked with men, The Jews all wondering stand; Yet He obeyed his Mother then, And came at her command.
Children a sweet hosanna sung, And blest their Savior's name; They gave Him honor with their tongue, While scribes and priests blaspheme.
Samuel the child was weaned and brought To wait upon the Lord: Young Timothy betimes was taught To know his holy Word.
Then why should I so long delay What others learnt so soon? I would not pass another day Without this work begun.

Written by Sylvia Plath |

A Better Resurrection

 I have no wit, I have no words, no tears;
My heart within me like a stone
Is numbed too much for hopes or fears;
Look right, look left, I dwell alone;
A lift mine eyes, but dimmed with grief
No everlasting hills I see;
My life is like the falling leaf;
O Jesus, quicken me.

More great poems below...

Written by William Topaz McGonagall |

A Christmas Carol

 Welcome, sweet Christmas, blest be the morn
That Christ our Saviour was born!
Earth's Redeemer, to save us from all danger,
And, as the Holy Record tells, born in a manger.
Chorus -- Then ring, ring, Christmas bells, Till your sweet music o'er the kingdom swells, To warn the people to respect the morn That Christ their Saviour was born.
The snow was on the ground when Christ was born, And the Virgin Mary His mother felt very forlorn As she lay in a horse's stall at a roadside inn, Till Christ our Saviour was born to free us from sin.
Oh! think of the Virgin Mary as she lay In a lowly stable on a bed of hay, And angels watching O'er her till Christ was born, Therefore all the people should respect Christmas morn.
The way to respect Christmas time Is not by drinking whisky or wine, But to sing praises to God on Christmas morn, The time that Jesus Christ His Son was born; Whom He sent into the world to save sinners from hell And by believing in Him in heaven we'll dwell; Then blest be the morn that Christ was born, Who can save us from hell, death, and scorn.
Then he warned, and respect the Saviour dear, And treat with less respect the New Year, And respect always the blessed morn That Christ our Saviour was born.
For each new morn to the Christian is dear, As well as the morn of the New Year, And he thanks God for the light of each new morn.
Especially the morn that Christ was born.
Therefore, good people, be warned in time, And on Christmas morn don't get drunk with wine But praise God above on Christmas morn, Who sent His Son to save us from hell and scorn.
There the heavenly babe He lay In a stall among a lot of hay, While the Angel Host by Bethlehem Sang a beautiful and heavenly anthem.
Christmas time ought to be held most dear, Much more so than the New Year, Because that's the time that Christ was born, Therefore respect Christmas morn.
And let the rich be kind to the poor, And think of the hardships they do endure, Who are neither clothed nor fed, And Many without a blanket to their bed.

Written by Siegfried Sassoon |

A Childs Prayer

 For Morn, my dome of blue, 
For Meadows, green and gay, 
And Birds who love the twilight of the leaves, 
Let Jesus keep me joyful when I pray.
For the big Bees that hum And hide in bells of flowers; For the winding roads that come To Evening’s holy door, May Jesus bring me grateful to his arms, And guard my innocence for evermore.

Written by James Weldon Johnson |

Go Down Death

 Weep not, weep not,
She is not dead;
She's resting in the bosom of Jesus.
Heart-broken husband--weep no more; Grief-stricken son--weep no more; Left-lonesome daughter --weep no more; She only just gone home.
Day before yesterday morning, God was looking down from his great, high heaven, Looking down on all his children, And his eye fell of Sister Caroline, Tossing on her bed of pain.
And God's big heart was touched with pity, With the everlasting pity.
And God sat back on his throne, And he commanded that tall, bright angel standing at his right hand: Call me Death! And that tall, bright angel cried in a voice That broke like a clap of thunder: Call Death!--Call Death! And the echo sounded down the streets of heaven Till it reached away back to that shadowy place, Where Death waits with his pale, white horses.
And Death heard the summons, And he leaped on his fastest horse, Pale as a sheet in the moonlight.
Up the golden street Death galloped, And the hooves of his horses struck fire from the gold, But they didn't make no sound.
Up Death rode to the Great White Throne, And waited for God's command.
And God said: Go down, Death, go down, Go down to Savannah, Georgia, Down in Yamacraw, And find Sister Caroline.
She's borne the burden and heat of the day, She's labored long in my vineyard, And she's tired-- She's weary-- Do down, Death, and bring her to me.
And Death didn't say a word, But he loosed the reins on his pale, white horse, And he clamped the spurs to his bloodless sides, And out and down he rode, Through heaven's pearly gates, Past suns and moons and stars; on Death rode, Leaving the lightning's flash behind; Straight down he came.
While we were watching round her bed, She turned her eyes and looked away, She saw what we couldn't see; She saw Old Death.
She saw Old Death Coming like a falling star.
But Death didn't frighten Sister Caroline; He looked to her like a welcome friend.
And she whispered to us: I'm going home, And she smiled and closed her eyes.
And Death took her up like a baby, And she lay in his icy arms, But she didn't feel no chill.
And death began to ride again-- Up beyond the evening star, Into the glittering light of glory, On to the Great White Throne.
And there he laid Sister Caroline On the loving breast of Jesus.
And Jesus took his own hand and wiped away her tears, And he smoothed the furrows from her face, And the angels sang a little song, And Jesus rocked her in his arms, And kept a-saying: Take your rest, Take your rest.
Weep not--weep not, She is not dead; She's resting in the bosom of Jesus.

Written by Aleksandr Blok |

The Twelve

Our sons have gone 
to serve the Reds 
to serve the Reds 
to risk their heads! 

O bitter,bitter pain, 
Sweet living! 
A torn overcoat 
an Austrian gun! 

-To get the bourgeosie 
We'll start a fire 
a worldwide fire, and drench it 
in blood- 
The good Lord bless us! 

-O you bitter bitterness, 
boring boredom, 
deadly boredom.
This is how I will spend my time.
This is how I will scratch my head, munch on seeds, some sunflower seeds, play with my knife play with my knife.
You bourgeosie, fly as a sparrow! I'll drink your blood, your warm blood, for love, for dark-eyed love.
God, let this soul, your servant, rest in peace.
Such boredom! XII .
On they march with sovereign tread.
‘Who else goes there? Come out! I said come out!’ It is the wind and the red flag plunging gaily at their head.
The frozen snow-drift looms in front.
‘Who’s in the drift! Come out! Come here!’ There’s only the homeless mongrel runt limping wretchedly in the rear .
‘You mangy beast, out of the way before you taste my bayonet.
Old mongrel world, clear off I say! I’ll have your hide to sole my boot! The shivering cur, the mongrel cur bares his teeth like a hungry wolf, droops his tail, but does not stir .
‘Hey answer, you there, show yourself.
’ ‘Who’s that waving the red flag?’ ‘Try and see! It’s as dark as the tomb!’ ‘Who’s that moving at a jog trot, keeping to the back-street gloom?’ ‘Don’t you worry ~ I’ll catch you yet; better surrender to me alive!’ ‘Come out, comrade, or you’ll regret it ~ we’ll fire when I’ve counted five!’ Crack ~ crack ~ crack! But only the echo answers from among the eaves .
The blizzard splits his seams, the snow laughs wildly up the wirlwind’s sleeve .
Crack ~ crack ~ crack! Crack ~ crack ~ crack! .
So they march with sovereign tread .
Behind them limps the hungry dog, and wrapped in wild snow at their head carrying a blood-red flag ~ soft-footed where the blizzard swirls, invulnerable where bullets crossed ~ crowned with a crown of snowflake pearls, a flowery diadem of frost, ahead of them goes Jesus Christ.

Written by Isaac Watts |

Psalm LXXII: Great God

 Great God, whose universal sway
The known and unknown worlds obey,
Now give the kingdom to thy Son,
Extend his power, exalt his throne.
The scepter well becomes his hands; All heaven submits to his commands; His justice shall avenge the poor, And pride and rage prevail no more.
With power he vindicates the just, And treads the oppressor in the dust: His worship and his fear shall last Till the full course of time be past.
As rain on meadows newly mown, So shall he send his influence down: His grace on fainting souls distils, Like heavenly dew on thirsty hills.
The heathen lands, that lie beneath The shades of overspreading death, Revive at his first dawning light; And deserts blossom at the sight.
The saints shall flourish in his days, Decked in the robes of joy and praise; Peace, like a river, from his throne Shall flow to nations yet unknown.
Jesus shall reign where'er the Sun Doth his successive journeys run; His kingdom stretch from shore to shore, Till suns shall rise and set no more.
For him shall endless prayer be made, And praises throng to crown his head; His name like sweet perfume shall rise With every morning sacrifice.
People and realms of every tongue Dwell on his love with sweetest song; And infant voices shall proclaim Their young Hosannas to his name.
Blessings abound where'er he reigns; The prisoner leaps to lose his chains; The weary find eternal rest; And all the sons of want are blest.
Where he displays his healing power, Death and the curse are known no more: In him the tribes of Adam boast More blessings than their father lost.
Let every creature rise, and bring Its grateful honors to our King; Angels descend with songs again, And earth prolong the joyful strain.

Written by Jalal ad-Din Muhammad Rumi |

Be Lost In The Call

Lord, said David, since you do not need us, why did you create these two worlds?

Reality replied: O prisoner of time, I was a secret treasure of kindness and generosity, and I wished this treasure to be known, so I created a mirror: its shining face, the heart; its darkened back, the world; The back would please you if you’ve never seen the face.

Has anyone ever produced a mirror out of mud and straw? Yet clean away the mud and straw, and a mirror might be revealed.

Until the juice ferments a while in the cask, it isn’t wine.
If you wish your heart to be bright, you must do a little work.

My King addressed the soul of my flesh: You return just as you left.
Where are the traces of my gifts?

We know that alchemy transforms copper into gold.
This Sun doesn’t want a crown or robe from God’s grace.
He is a hat to a hundred bald men, a covering for ten who were naked.

Jesus sat humbly on the back of an ass, my child! How could a zephyr ride an ass? Spirit, find your way, in seeking lowness like a stream.
Reason, tread the path of selflessness into eternity.

Remember God so much that you are forgotten.
Let the caller and the called disappear; be lost in the Call.



- Rumi

Written by Jupiter Hammon |

An Evening Thought: Salvation by Christ with Penetential Cries

 Salvation comes by Christ alone,
The only Son of God;
Redemption now to every one,
That love his holy Word.
Dear Jesus, we would fly to Thee, And leave off every Sin, Thy tender Mercy well agree; Salvation from our King.
Salvation comes now from the Lord, Our victorious King.
His holy Name be well ador'd, Salvation surely bring.
Dear Jesus, give thy Spirit now, Thy Grace to every Nation, That han't the Lord to whom we bow, The Author of Salvation.
Dear Jesus, unto Thee we cry, Give us the Preparation; Turn not away thy tender Eye; We seek thy true Salvation.
Salvation comes from God we know, The true and only One; It's well agreed and certain true, He gave his only Son.
Lord, hear our penetential Cry: Salvation from above; It is the Lord that doth supply, With his Redeeming Love.
Dear Jesus, by thy precious Blood, The World Redemption have: Salvation now comes from the Lord, He being thy captive slave.
Dear Jesus, let the Nations cry, And all the People say, Salvation comes from Christ on high, Haste on Tribunal Day.
We cry as Sinners to the Lord, Salvation to obtain; It is firmly fixed, his holy Word, Ye shall not cry in vain.
Dear Jesus, unto Thee we cry, And make our Lamentation: O let our Prayers ascend on high; We felt thy Salvation.
Lord, turn our dark benighted Souls; Give us a true Motion, And let the Hearts of all the World, Make Christ their Salvation.
Ten Thousand Angels cry to Thee, Yea, louder than the Ocean.
Thou art the Lord, we plainly see; Thou art the true Salvation.
Now is the Day, excepted Time; The Day of the Salvation; Increase your Faith, do not repine: Awake ye, every Nation.
Lord, unto whom now shall we go, Or seek a safe abode? Thou has the Word Salvation Too, The only Son of God.
Ho! every one that hunger hath, Or pineth after me, Salvation be thy leading Staff, To set the Sinner free.
Dear Jesus, unto Thee we fly; Depart, depart from Sin, Salvation doth at length supply, The Glory of our King.
Come, ye Blessed of the Lord, Salvation greatly given; O turn your Hearts, accept the Word, Your Souls are fit for Heaven.
Dear Jesus, we now turn to Thee, Salvation to obtain; Our Hearts and Souls do meet again, To magnify thy Name.
Come, Holy Spirit, Heavenly Dove, The Object of our Care; Salvation doth increase our Love; Our Hearts hath felt they fear.
Now Glory be to God on High, Salvation high and low; And thus the Soul on Christ rely, To Heaven surely go.
Come, Blessed Jesus, Heavenly Dove, Accept Repentance here; Salvation give, with tender Love; Let us with Angels share.

Written by Aleister Crowley |

The Twins

 [Dedicated to Austin Osman Spare]

Have pity ! show no pity !
Those eyes that send such shivers
Into my brain and spine : oh let them
Flame like the ancient city
Swallowed up by the sulphurous rivers
When men let angels fret them !

Yea ! let the south wind blow,
And the Turkish banner advance,
And the word go out : No quarter !
But I shall hod thee -so !
While the boys and maidens dance
About the shambles of slaughter !

I know thee who thou art,
The inmost fiend that curlest
Thy vampire tounge about
Earth's corybantic heart,
Hell's warrior that whirlest
The darts of horror and doubt !

Thou knowest me who I am
The inmost soul and saviour
Of man ; what hieroglyph
Of the dragon and the lamb
Shall thou and I engrave here
On Time's inscandescable cliff ?

Look ! in the plished granite,
Black as thy cartouche is with sins,
I read the searing sentence
That blasts the eyes that scan it :
" A fico for repentance ! Ay ! O Son of my mother That snarled and clawed in her womb As now we rave in our rapture, I know thee, I love thee, brother ! Incestuous males that consumes The light and the life that we capture.
Starve thou the soul of the world, Brother, as I the body ! Shall we not glut our lust On these wretches whom Fate hath hurled To a hell of jesus and shoddy, Dung and ethics and dust ? Thou as I art Fate.
Coe then, conquer and kiss me ! Come ! what hinders? Believe me : This is the thought we await.
The mark is fair ; can you miss me ? See, how subtly I writhe ! Strange runes and unknown sigils I trace in the trance that thrills us.
Death ! how lithe, how blithe Are these male incestuous vigils ! Ah ! this is the spasm that kills us ! Wherefore I solemnly affirm This twofold Oneness at the term.
Asar on Asi did beget Horus twin brother unto Set.
Now Set and Horus kiss, to call The Soul of the Unnatural Forth from the dusk ; then nature slain Lets the Beyond be born again.
This weird is of the tongue of Khem, The Conjuration used of them.
Whoso shall speak it, let him die, His bowels rotting inwardly, Save he uncover and caress The God that lighteth his liesse.

Written by Emily Dickinson |

He strained my faith

 He strained my faith --
Did he find it supple?
Shook my strong trust --
Did it then -- yield?

Hurled my belief --
But -- did he shatter -- it?
Racked -- with suspense --
Not a nerve failed!

Wrung me -- with Anguish --
But I never doubted him --
'Tho' for what wrong
He did never say --

Stabbed -- while I sued
His sweet forgiveness --
Jesus -- it's your little "John"!
Don't you know -- me?

Written by Charles Bukowski |

Another Day

 having the low down blues and going
into a restraunt to eat.
you sit at a table.
the waitress smiles at you.
she's dumpy.
her ass is too big.
she radiates kindess and symphaty.
live with her 3 months and a man would no real agony.
, you'll tip her 15 percent.
you order a turkey sandwich and a beer.
the man at the table across from you has watery blue eyes and a head like an elephant.
at a table further down are 3 men with very tiny heads and long necks like ostiches.
they talk loudly of land development.
why, you think, did I ever come in here when I have the low-down blues? then the the waitress comes back eith the sandwich and she asks you if there will be anything else? snd you tell her, no no, this will be fine.
then somebody behind you laughs.
it's a cork laugh filled with sand and broken glass.
you begin eating the sandwhich.
it's something.
it's a minor, difficult, sensible action like composing a popular song to make a 14-year old weep.
you order another beer.
jesus,look at that guy his hands hang down almost to his knees and he's whistling.
well, time to get out.
pivk up the bill.
go to the register.
pick up a toothpick.
go out the door.
your car is still there.
and there are 3 men with heads and necks like ostriches all getting into one car.
they each have a toothpick and now they are talking about women.
they drive away first they drive away fast.
they're best i guess.
it's an unberably hot day.
there's a first-stage smog alert.
all the birds and plants are dead or dying.
you start the engine.

Written by Carl Sandburg |

Always the Mob

 JESUS emptied the devils of one man into forty hogs and the hogs took the edge of a high rock and dropped off and down into the sea: a mob.
The sheep on the hills of Australia, blundering fourfooted in the sunset mist to the dark, they go one way, they hunt one sleep, they find one pocket of grass for all.
Karnak? Pyramids? Sphinx paws tall as a coolie? Tombs kept for kings and sacred cows? A mob.
Young roast pigs and naked dancing girls of Belshazzar, the room where a thousand sat guzzling when a hand wrote: Mene, mene, tekel, upharsin? A mob.
The honeycomb of green that won the sun as the Hanging Gardens of Nineveh, flew to its shape at the hands of a mob that followed the fingers of Nebuchadnezzar: a mob of one hand and one plan.
Stones of a circle of hills at Athens, staircases of a mountain in Peru, scattered clans of marble dragons in China: each a mob on the rim of a sunrise: hammers and wagons have them now.
Locks and gates of Panama? The Union Pacific crossing deserts and tunneling mountains? The Woolworth on land and the Titanic at sea? Lighthouses blinking a coast line from Labrador to Key West? Pigiron bars piled on a barge whistling in a fog off Sheboygan? A mob: hammers and wagons have them to-morrow.
The mob? A typhoon tearing loose an island from thousand-year moorings and bastions, shooting a volcanic ash with a fire tongue that licks up cities and peoples.
Layers of worms eating rocks and forming loam and valley floors for potatoes, wheat, watermelons.
The mob? A jag of lightning, a geyser, a gravel mass loosening… The mob … kills or builds … the mob is Attila or Ghengis Khan, the mob is Napoleon, Lincoln.
I am born in the mob—I die in the mob—the same goes for you—I don’t care who you are.
I cross the sheets of fire in No Man’s land for you, my brother—I slip a steel tooth into your throat, you my brother—I die for you and I kill you—It is a twisted and gnarled thing, a crimson wool: One more arch of stars, In the night of our mist, In the night of our tears.

Written by Isaac Watts |

Hymn 34 part 2

 None excluded from hope.
1:16; 1 Cor.
Jesus, thy blessings are not few, Nor is thy gospel weak; Thy grace can melt the stubborn Jew, And bow th' aspiring Greek.
Wide as the reach of Satan's rage Doth thy salvation flow; 'Tis not confined to sex or age, The lofty or the low.
While grace is offered to the prince, The poor may take their share; No mortal has a just pretence To perish in despair Be wise, ye men of strength and wit, Nor boast your native powers; But to his sovereign grace submit, And glory shall be yours.
Come, all ye vilest sinners, come, He'll form your souls anew; His gospel and his heart have room For rebels such as you.
His doctrine is almighty love; There's virtue in his name To turn the raven to a dove, The lion to a lamb.