Submit Your Poems
Get Your Premium Membership

Best Famous Spiritual Poems

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

Search for the best famous Spiritual poems, articles about Spiritual poems, poetry blogs, or anything else Spiritual poem related using the PoetrySoup search engine at the top of the page.

See also: Best Member Poems

Go Back

by Galway Kinnell | |

Saint Francis And The Sow

The bud 
stands for all things, 
even for those things that don't flower, 
for everything flowers, from within, of self-blessing; 
though sometimes it is necessary 
to reteach a thing its loveliness, 
to put a hand on its brow 
of the flower 
and retell it in words and in touch 
it is lovely 
until it flowers again from within, of self-blessing; 
as Saint Francis 
put his hand on the creased forehead 
of the sow, and told her in words and in touch 
blessings of earth on the sow, and the sow 
began remembering all down her thick length, 
from the earthen snout all the way 
through the fodder and slops to the spiritual curl of the tail, 
from the hard spininess spiked out from the spine 
down through the great broken heart 
to the blue milken dreaminess spurting and shuddering 
from the fourteen teats into the fourteen mouths sucking and blowing beneath 
them: 
the long, perfect loveliness of sow.


by David Herbert Lawrence | |

A Spiritual Woman

 Close your eyes, my love, let me make you blind; 
 They have taught you to see 
Only a mean arithmetic on the face of things, 
A cunning algebra in the faces of men, 
 And God like geometry 
Completing his circles, and working cleverly.
I'll kiss you over the eyes till I kiss you blind; If I can—if any one could.
Then perhaps in the dark you'll have got what you want to find.
You've discovered so many bits, with your clever eyes, And I'm a kaleidoscope That you shake and shake, and yet it won't come to your mind.
Now stop carping at me.
—But God, how I hate you! Do you fear I shall swindle you? Do you think if you take me as I am, that that will abate you Somehow?—so sad, so intrinsic, so spiritual, yet so cautious, you Must have me all in your will and your consciousness— I hate you.


by The Bible | |

Colossians 3:16-17

May the word of Jesus Christ
Make its home in your hearts
And dwell in all its richness,
Permeating every part
So you may have His wisdom
In teaching one another
What you have learned from Him
Shared with sisters and brothers
And we will sing a new song
When His Holy Spirit comes in,
Making melody in our hearts
With spiritual songs and hymns
And whatever you may do
In word, thought or deed,
Do everything in the name of Jesus
Giving praise unto thee.

Scripture Poem © Copyright Of M.
S.
Lowndes


by Ehsan Sehgal | |

I Love You

I always dreamed
It seemed
An invisible angelic soul
That came as spiritual lights
In my sad, tearful and darknights
Where I was prisoner
By an unwanted lover
Living in the fears
I prayed years and years
With my heart and tears
May God had listened me
And one day I discovered you
My heart deeply favoured you
I now see and feel
You, as my love and soul
My life and final goal
May you give me a place in your glorious heart
To become your part and effection art.
Ehsan Sehgal


by Galway Kinnell | |

St. Francis And The Sow

 The bud
stands for all things,
even those things that don't flower,
for everything flowers, from within, of self-blessing;
though sometimes it is necessary
to reteach a thing its loveliness,
to put a hand on its brow
of the flower
and retell it in words and in touch
it is lovely
until it flowers again from within, of self-blessing;
as St.
Francis put his hand on the creased forehead of the sow, and told her in words and in touch blessings of earth on the sow, and the sow began remembering all down her thick length, from the earthen snout all the way through the fodder and slops to the spiritual curl of the tail, from the hard spininess spiked out from the spine down through the great broken heart to the blue milken dreaminess spurting and shuddering from the fourteen teats into the fourteen mouths sucking and blowing beneath them: the long, perfect loveliness of sow.


by Walt Whitman | |

As At Thy Portals Also Death.

 AS at thy portals also death, 
Entering thy sovereign, dim, illimitable grounds, 
To memories of my mother, to the divine blending, maternity, 
To her, buried and gone, yet buried not, gone not from me, 
(I see again the calm benignant face fresh and beautiful still,
I sit by the form in the coffin, 
I kiss and kiss convulsively again the sweet old lips, the cheeks, the closed eyes in the
 coffin;) 
To her, the ideal woman, practical, spiritual, of all of earth, life, love, to me the
 best, 
I grave a monumental line, before I go, amid these songs, 
And set a tombstone here.


by Walt Whitman | |

On the Beach at Night Alone.

 ON the beach at night alone, 
As the old mother sways her to and fro, singing her husky song, 
As I watch the bright stars shining—I think a thought of the clef of the universes, and of
 the future.
A VAST SIMILITUDE interlocks all, All spheres, grown, ungrown, small, large, suns, moons, planets, comets, asteroids, All the substances of the same, and all that is spiritual upon the same, All distances of place, however wide, All distances of time—all inanimate forms, All Souls—all living bodies, though they be ever so different, or in different worlds, All gaseous, watery, vegetable, mineral processes—the fishes, the brutes, All men and women—me also; All nations, colors, barbarisms, civilizations, languages; All identities that have existed, or may exist, on this globe, or any globe; All lives and deaths—all of the past, present, future; This vast similitude spans them, and always has spann’d, and shall forever span them, and compactly hold them, and enclose them.


by Walt Whitman | |

To One Shortly to Die.

 1
FROM all the rest I single out you, having a message for you: 
You are to die—Let others tell you what they please, I cannot prevaricate, 
I am exact and merciless, but I love you—There is no escape for you.
Softly I lay my right hand upon you—you just feel it, I do not argue—I bend my head close, and half envelope it, I sit quietly by—I remain faithful, I am more than nurse, more than parent or neighbor, I absolve you from all except yourself, spiritual, bodily—that is eternal—you yourself will surely escape, The corpse you will leave will be but excrementitious.
2 The sun bursts through in unlooked-for directions! Strong thoughts fill you, and confidence—you smile! You forget you are sick, as I forget you are sick, You do not see the medicines—you do not mind the weeping friends—I am with you, I exclude others from you—there is nothing to be commiserated, I do not commiserate—I congratulate you.


by Walt Whitman | |

Wandering at Morn.

 WANDERING at morn, 
Emerging from the night, from gloomy thoughts—thee in my thoughts, 
Yearning for thee, harmonious Union! thee, Singing Bird divine! 
Thee, seated coil’d in evil times, my Country, with craft and black dismay—with
 every
 meanness, treason thrust upon thee; 
—Wandering—this common marvel I beheld—the parent thrush I watch’d,
 feeding
 its young,
(The singing thrush, whose tones of joy and faith ecstatic, 
Fail not to certify and cheer my soul.
) There ponder’d, felt I, If worms, snakes, loathsome grubs, may to sweet spiritual songs be turn’d, If vermin so transposed, so used, so bless’d may be, Then may I trust in you, your fortunes, days, my country; —Who knows that these may be the lessons fit for you? From these your future Song may rise, with joyous trills, Destin’d to fill the world.


by Walt Whitman | |

Prairie-Grass Dividing The.

 THE prairie-grass dividing—its special odor breathing, 
I demand of it the spiritual corresponding, 
Demand the most copious and close companionship of men, 
Demand the blades to rise of words, acts, beings, 
Those of the open atmosphere, coarse, sunlit, fresh, nutritious,
Those that go their own gait, erect, stepping with freedom and command—leading, not
 following, 
Those with a never-quell’d audacity—those with sweet and lusty flesh, clear of
 taint,

Those that look carelessly in the faces of Presidents and Governors, as to say, Who are
 you? 
Those of earth-born passion, simple, never-constrain’d, never obedient, 
Those of inland America.


by Louise Gluck | |

Saints

 In our family, there were two saints,
my aunt and my grandmother.
But their lives were different.
My grandmother's was tranquil, even at the end.
She was like a person walking in calm water; for some reason the sea couldn't bring itself to hurt her.
When my aunt took the same path, the waves broke over her, they attacked her, which is how the Fates respond to a true spiritual nature.
My grandmother was cautious, conservative: that's why she escaped suffering.
My aunt's escaped nothing; each time the sea retreats, someone she loves is taken away.
Still she won't experience the sea as evil.
To her, it is what it is: where it touches land, it must turn to violence.


by Rg Gregory | |

doughnut denial

 (an ascetic poem for karen's birthday)

fancy having a birthday on a thursday
when you do the buying of the doughnuts
and others lick their sticky fingers
thinking good old karen letting
us share the eating of her birthday

not me of course - i sit at home (alone)
reflecting it is purification day
today and i do not have a doughnut
thank you karen for letting me have
a taste of self-denial on your birthday

and such a spiritual gain- in this way
you and i share the high-church position
while others lick the sugar off their lips
guzzling their souls away benightedly
with you great circe in your birthday play

luckily i have no envy of doughnuts
i sit here (alone) appreciating the pure
a step aside from doughy lust and greed
enjoying your birthday in its proper light 
-a time of abstinence starvation longing


by Philip Levine | |

The Dead

 Revolving in oval loops of solar speed,
Couched in cauls of clay as in holy robes,
Dead men render love and war no heed,
Lulled in the ample womb of the full-tilt globe.
No spiritual Caesars are these dead; They want no proud paternal kingdom come; And when at last they blunder into bed World-wrecked, they seek only oblivion.
Rolled round with goodly loam and cradled deep, These bone shanks will not wake immaculate To trumpet-toppling dawn of doomstruck day : They loll forever in colossal sleep; Nor can God's stern, shocked angels cry them up From their fond, final, infamous decay.


by Wilfred Owen | |

Winter Song

 The browns, the olives, and the yellows died,
And were swept up to heaven; where they glowed
Each dawn and set of sun till Christmastide,
And when the land lay pale for them, pale-snowed,
Fell back, and down the snow-drifts flamed and flowed.
From off your face, into the winds of winter, The sun-brown and the summer-gold are blowing; But they shall gleam with spiritual glinter, When paler beauty on your brows falls snowing, And through those snows my looks shall be soft-going.


by Edgar Lee Masters | |

Harry Carey Goodhue

 You never marveled, dullards of Spoon River, 
When Chase Henry voted against the saloons 
To revenge himself for being shut off.
But none of you was keen enough To follow my steps, or trace me home As Chase's spiritual brother.
Do you remember when I fought The bank and the courthouse ring, For pocketing the interest on public funds? And when I fought our leading citizens For making the poor the pack-horses of the taxes? And when I fought the water-works For stealing streets and raising rates? And when I fought the business men Who fought me in these fights? Then do you remember: That staggering up from the wreck of defeat, And the wreck of a ruined career, I slipped from my cloak my last ideal, Hidden from all eyes until then, Like the cherished jawbone of an ass, And smote the bank and the water works, And the business men with prohibition, And made Spoon River pay the cost Of the fights that I had lost?


by Edgar Lee Masters | |

Professor Newcomer

 Everyone laughed at Col.
Prichard For buying an engine so powerful That it wrecked itself, and wrecked the grinder He ran it with.
But here is a joke of cosmic size: The urge of nature that made a man Evolve from his brain a spiritual life -- Oh miracle of the world! -- The very same brain with which the ape and wolf Get food and shelter and procreate themselves.
Nature has made man do this, In a world where she gives him nothing to do After all -- (though the strength of his soul goes round In a futile waste of power.
To gear itself to the mills of the gods) -- But get food and shelter and procreate himself!


by Robert William Service | |

Seville

 My Pa and Ma their honeymoon
Passed in an Andulasian June,
And though produced in Drury Lane,
I must have been conceived in Spain.
Now having lapsed from fair estate, A coster's is my sorry fate; Yet on my barrow lo! I wheel The golden harvest of Saville.
"Sweet Spanish oranges!" I cry.
Ah! People deem not as they buy, That in a dream a steel guitar I strum beside the Alcázar, And at the Miralda I meet A signorita honey sweet, And stroll beneath the silver moon Like Pa and Ma that magic June.
Alack-a-day! I fear I'll never Behold the golden Guadalquivir; Yet here in Brixton how I feel My spiritual home's Saville; And hold the hope that some day I Will visit there, if just to die; Feeling I have not lived in vain To crown my days in sunny Spain.


by George Meredith | |

Modern Love XXIX: Am I Failing

 Am I failing ? For no longer can I cast 
A glory round about this head of gold.
Glory she wears, but springing from the mould; Not like the consecration of the Past! Is my soul beggared? Something more than earth I cry for still: I cannot be at peace In having Love upon a' mortal lease.
I cannot take the woman at her worth! Where is the ancient wealth wherewith I clothed Our human nakedness, and could endow With spiritual splendour a white brow That else had grinned at me the fact I loathed ? A kiss is but a kiss now! and no wave Of a great flood that whirls me to the sea.
But, as you will! we'll sit contentedly, And eat our pot of honey on the grave.


by Isaac Watts | |

Psalm 144 part 1

 v.
1,2 C.
M.
Assistance and victory in the spiritual warfare.
For ever blessed be the Lord, My Savior and my shield; He sends his Spirit with his word, To arm me for the field.
When sin and hell their force unite, He makes my soul his care, Instructs me to the heav'nly fight, And guards me through the war.
A friend and helper so divine Does my weak courage raise; He makes the glorious vict'ry mine, And his shall be the praise.


by Isaac Watts | |

Hymn 20

 Spiritual apparel.
Isa.
61:10.
Awake, my heart; arise, my tongue, Prepare a tuneful voice; In God, the life of all my joys, Aloud will I rejoice.
'Tis he adorned my naked soul, And made salvation mine; Upon a poor polluted worm He makes his graces shine.
And lest the shadow of a spot Should on my soul be found, He took the robe the Savior wrought, And cast it all around.
How far the heav'nly robe exceeds What earthly princes wear These ornaments, how bright they shine! How white the garments are! The Spirit wrought my faith, and love, And hope, and every grace; But Jesus spent his life to work The robe of righteousness.
Strangely, my soul, art thou arrayed By the great Sacred Three! In sweetest harmony of praise Let all thy powers agree.