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Best Famous Faith And Love Poems

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Written by John Donne | Create an image from this poem

Elegy VI

 Oh, let me not serve so, as those men serve
Whom honour's smokes at once fatten and starve;
Poorly enrich't with great men's words or looks;
Nor so write my name in thy loving books
As those idolatrous flatterers, which still
Their Prince's styles, with many realms fulfil
Whence they no tribute have, and where no sway.
Such services I offer as shall pay
Themselves, I hate dead names: Oh then let me
Favourite in Ordinary, or no favourite be.
When my soul was in her own body sheathed,
Nor yet by oaths betrothed, nor kisses breathed
Into my Purgatory, faithless thee,
Thy heart seemed wax, and steel thy constancy:
So, careless flowers strowed on the waters face
The curled whirlpools suck, smack, and embrace,
Yet drown them; so, the taper's beamy eye
Amorously twinkling beckons the giddy fly,
Yet burns his wings; and such the devil is,
Scarce visiting them who are entirely his.
When I behold a stream which, from the spring,
Doth with doubtful melodious murmuring,
Or in a speechless slumber, calmly ride
Her wedded channels' bosom, and then chide
And bend her brows, and swell if any bough
Do but stoop down, or kiss her upmost brow:
Yet, if her often gnawing kisses win
The traiterous bank to gape, and let her in,
She rusheth violently, and doth divorce
Her from her native, and her long-kept course,
And roars, and braves it, and in gallant scorn,
In flattering eddies promising retorn,
She flouts the channel, who thenceforth is dry;
Then say I, That is she, and this am I.
Yet let not thy deep bitterness beget
Careless despair in me, for that will whet
My mind to scorn; and Oh, love dulled with pain
Was ne'er so wise, nor well armed as disdain.
Then with new eyes I shall survey thee, and spy
Death in thy cheeks, and darkness in thine eye.
Though hope bred faith and love: thus taught, I shall,
As nations do from Rome, from thy love fall.
My hate shall outgrow thine, and utterly
I will renounce thy dalliance: and when I
Am the recusant, in that resolute state,
What hurts it me to be excommunicate?


Written by Robert Louis Stevenson | Create an image from this poem

Fixed Is The Doom

 FIXED is the doom; and to the last of years
Teacher and taught, friend, lover, parent, child,
Each walks, though near, yet separate; each beholds
His dear ones shine beyond him like the stars.
We also, love, forever dwell apart;
With cries approach, with cries behold the gulph,
The Unvaulted; as two great eagles that do wheel in air
Above a mountain, and with screams confer,
Far heard athwart the cedars.
Yet the years
Shall bring us ever nearer; day by day
Endearing, week by week, till death at last
Dissolve that long divorce. By faith we love,
Not knowledge; and by faith, though far removed,
Dwell as in perfect nearness, heart to heart.
We but excuse
Those things we merely are; and to our souls
A brave deception cherish.
So from unhappy war a man returns
Unfearing, or the seaman from the deep;
So from cool night and woodlands to a feast
May someone enter, and still breathe of dews,
And in her eyes still wear the dusky night.
Written by Edwin Arlington Robinson | Create an image from this poem

Sainte-Nitouche

 Though not for common praise of him, 
Nor yet for pride or charity, 
Still would I make to Vanderberg 
One tribute for his memory: 

One honest warrant of a friend
Who found with him that flesh was grass— 
Who neither blamed him in defect 
Nor marveled how it came to pass; 

Or why it ever was that he— 
That Vanderberg, of all good men,
Should lose himself to find himself, 
Straightway to lose himself again. 

For we had buried Sainte-Nitouche, 
And he had said to me that night: 
“Yes, we have laid her in the earth,
But what of that?” And he was right. 

And he had said: “We have a wife, 
We have a child, we have a church; 
’T would be a scurrilous way out 
If we should leave them in the lurch.

“That’s why I have you here with me 
To-night: you know a talk may take 
The place of bromide, cyanide, 
Et cetera. For heaven’s sake, 

“Why do you look at me like that?
What have I done to freeze you so? 
Dear man, you see where friendship means 
A few things yet that you don’t know; 

“And you see partly why it is 
That I am glad for what is gone:
For Sainte-Nitouche and for the world 
In me that followed. What lives on— 

“Well, here you have it: here at home— 
For even home will yet return. 
You know the truth is on my side,
And that will make the embers burn. 

“I see them brighten while I speak, 
I see them flash,—and they are mine! 
You do not know them, but I do: 
I know the way they used to shine.

“And I know more than I have told 
Of other life that is to be: 
I shall have earned it when it comes, 
And when it comes I shall be free. 

“Not as I was before she came,
But farther on for having been 
The servitor, the slave of her— 
The fool, you think. But there’s your sin— 

“Forgive me!—and your ignorance: 
Could you but have the vision here
That I have, you would understand 
As I do that all ways are clear 

“For those who dare to follow them 
With earnest eyes and honest feet. 
But Sainte-Nitouche has made the way
For me, and I shall find it sweet. 

“Sweet with a bitter sting left?—Yes, 
Bitter enough, God knows, at first; 
But there are more steep ways than one 
To make the best look like the worst;

“And here is mine—the dark and hard, 
For me to follow, trust, and hold: 
And worship, so that I may leave 
No broken story to be told. 

“Therefore I welcome what may come,
Glad for the days, the nights, the years.”— 
An upward flash of ember-flame 
Revealed the gladness in his tears. 

“You see them, but you know,” said he, 
“Too much to be incredulous:
You know the day that makes us wise, 
The moment that makes fools of us. 

“So I shall follow from now on 
The road that she has found for me: 
The dark and starry way that leads
Right upward, and eternally. 

“Stumble at first? I may do that; 
And I may grope, and hate the night; 
But there’s a guidance for the man 
Who stumbles upward for the light,

“And I shall have it all from her, 
The foam-born child of innocence. 
I feel you smiling while I speak, 
But that’s of little consequence; 

“For when we learn that we may find
The truth where others miss the mark, 
What is it worth for us to know 
That friends are smiling in the dark? 

“Could we but share the lonely pride 
Of knowing, all would then be well;
But knowledge often writes itself 
In flaming words we cannot spell. 

“And I, who have my work to do, 
Look forward; and I dare to see, 
Far stretching and all mountainous,
God’s pathway through the gloom for me.” 

I found so little to say then 
That I said nothing.—“Say good-night,” 
Said Vanderberg; “and when we meet 
To-morrow, tell me I was right.

“Forget the dozen other things 
That you have not the faith to say; 
For now I know as well as you 
That you are glad to go away.” 

I could have blessed the man for that,
And he could read me with a smile: 
“You doubt,” said he, “but if we live 
You’ll know me in a little while.” 

He lived; and all as he foretold, 
I knew him—better than he thought:
My fancy did not wholly dig 
The pit where I believed him caught. 

But yet he lived and laughed, and preached, 
And worked—as only players can: 
He scoured the shrine that once was home
And kept himself a clergyman. 

The clockwork of his cold routine 
Put friends far off that once were near; 
The five staccatos in his laugh 
Were too defensive and too clear;

The glacial sermons that he preached 
Were longer than they should have been; 
And, like the man who fashioned them, 
The best were too divinely thin. 

But still he lived, and moved, and had
The sort of being that was his, 
Till on a day the shrine of home 
For him was in the Mysteries:— 

“My friend, there’s one thing yet,” said he, 
“And one that I have never shared
With any man that I have met; 
But you—you know me.” And he stared 

For a slow moment at me then 
With conscious eyes that had the gleam, 
The shine, before the stroke:—“You know
The ways of us, the way we dream: 

“You know the glory we have won, 
You know the glamour we have lost; 
You see me now, you look at me,— 
And yes, you pity me, almost;

“But never mind the pity—no, 
Confess the faith you can’t conceal; 
And if you frown, be not like one 
Of those who frown before they feel. 

“For there is truth, and half truth,—yes,
And there’s a quarter truth, no doubt; 
But mine was more than half.… You smile? 
You understand? You bear me out? 

“You always knew that I was right— 
You are my friend—and I have tried
Your faith—your love.”—The gleam grew small, 
The stroke was easy, and he died. 

I saw the dim look change itself 
To one that never will be dim; 
I saw the dead flesh to the grave,
But that was not the last of him. 

For what was his to live lives yet: 
Truth, quarter truth, death cannot reach; 
Nor is it always what we know 
That we are fittest here to teach.

The fight goes on when fields are still, 
The triumph clings when arms are down; 
The jewels of all coronets 
Are pebbles of the unseen crown; 

The specious weight of loud reproof
Sinks where a still conviction floats; 
And on God’s ocean after storm 
Time’s wreckage is half pilot-boats; 

And what wet faces wash to sight 
Thereafter feed the common moan:—
But Vanderberg no pilot had, 
Nor could have: he was all alone. 

Unchallenged by the larger light 
The starry quest was his to make; 
And of all ways that are for men,
The starry way was his to take. 

We grant him idle names enough 
To-day, but even while we frown 
The fight goes on, the triumph clings, 
And there is yet the unseen crown

But was it his? Did Vanderberg 
Find half truth to be passion’s thrall, 
Or as we met him day by day, 
Was love triumphant, after all? 

I do not know so much as that;
I only know that he died right: 
Saint Anthony nor Sainte-Nitouche 
Had ever smiled as he did—quite.
Written by William Cowper | Create an image from this poem

Exhortation to Prayer

 What various hindrances we meet
In coming to a mercy seat!
Yet who that knows the worth of prayer,
But wishes to be often there?

Prayer makes the darken'd cloud withdraw,
Prayer climbs the ladder Jacob saw,
Gives exercise to faith and love,
Brings every blessing from above.

Restraining prayer, we cease to fight;
Prayer makes the Christian's armour bright;
And Satan trembles when he sees
The weakest saint upon his knees.

While Moses stood with arms spread wide,
Success was found on Israel's side;
But when through weariness they fail'd,
That moment Amalek prevail'd.

Have you no words? Ah, think again,
Words flow apace when you complain,
And fill your fellow-creature's ear
With the sad tale of all your care.

Were half the breath thus vainly spent
To heaven in supplication sent,
Your cheerful song would oftener be,
"Hear what the Lord has done for me."
Written by John Milton | Create an image from this poem

On the Religious Memory of Mrs. Catherine Thomson my Christian Friend Deceased Dec. 16 1646

 When Faith and Love, which parted from thee never, 
Had ripened thy just soul to dwell with God, 
Meekly thou didst resign this earthly load 
Of death, called life, which us from life doth sever. 
Thy works, and alms, and all thy good endeavour, 
Stayed not behind, nor in the grave were trod; 
But, as Faith pointed with her golden rod, 
Followed thee up to joy and bliss for ever. 
Love led them on; and Faith, who knew them best 
Thy handmaids, clad them o’er with purple beams 
And azure wings, that up they flew so drest, 
And speak the truth of thee on glorious themes 
Before the Judge; who henceforth bid thee rest, 
And drink thy fill of pure immortal streams.


Written by Algernon Charles Swinburne | Create an image from this poem

A New Years Message To Joseph Mazzini

 Send the stars light, but send not love to me.
Shelley.

I

Out of the dawning heavens that hear
Young wings and feet of the new year
Move through their twilight, and shed round
Soft showers of sound,
Soothing the season with sweet rain,
If greeting come to make me fain,
What is it I can send again?

2

I know not if the year shall send
Tidings to usward as a friend,
And salutation, and such things
Bear on his wings
As the soul turns and thirsts unto
With hungering eyes and lips that sue
For that sweet food which makes all new.

3

I know not if his light shall be
Darkness, or else light verily:
I know but that it will not part
Heart's faith from heart,
Truth from the trust in truth, nor hope
From sight of days unscaled that ope
Beyond one poor year's horoscope.

4

That faith in love which love's self gives,
O master of my spirit, lives,
Having in presence unremoved
Thine head beloved,
The shadow of thee, the semitone
Of thy voice heard at heart and known,
The light of thee not set nor flown.

5

Seas, lands, and hours, can these divide
Love from love's service, side from side,
Though no sound pass nor breath be heard
Of one good word?
To send back words of trust to thee
Were to send wings to love, when he
With his own strong wings covers me.

6

Who shall teach singing to the spheres,
Or motion to the flight of years?
Let soul with soul keep hand in hand
And understand,
As in one same abiding-place
We keep one watch for one same face
To rise in some short sacred space.

7

And all space midway is but nought
To keep true heart from faithful thought,
As under twilight stars we wait
By Time's shut gate
Till the slow soundless hinges turn,
And through the depth of years that yearn
The face of the Republic burn.
Written by William Cowper | Create an image from this poem

Living and a Dead Faith

 The Lord receives his highest praise
From humble minds and hearts sincere;
While all the loud professor says
Offends the righteous Judge's ear.

To walk as children of the day,
To mark the precepts' holy light,
To wage the warfare, watch, and pray,
Show who are pleasing in His sight.

Not words alone it cost the Lord,
To purchase pardon for His own;
Nor will a soul by grace restored
Return the Saviour words alone.

With golden bells, the priestly vest,
And rich pomegranates border'd round,
The need of holiness expressed,
And called for fruit as well as sound.

Easy indeed it were to reach
A mansion in the courts above,
If swelling words and fluent speech
Might serve instead of faith and love.

But none shall gain the blissful place,
Or God's unclouded glory see,
Who talks of free and sovereign grace,
Unless that grace has made him free!
Written by John Milton | Create an image from this poem

Sonnet 14

 XIV

When Faith and Love which parted from thee never,
Had ripen'd thy just soul to dwell with God,
Meekly thou didst resign this earthy load
Of Death, call'd Life; which us from Life doth sever
Thy Works and Alms and all thy good Endeavour
Staid not behind, nor in the grave were trod;
But as Faith pointed with her golden rod,
Follow'd thee up to joy and bliss for ever.
Love led them on, and Faith who knew them best
Thy hand-maids, clad them o're with purple beams 
And azure wings, that up they flew so drest,
And speak the truth of thee on glorious Theams
Before the Judge, who thenceforth bid thee rest
And drink thy fill of pure immortal streams.

Note: Camb. Autograph supplies title, On the Religious
Memory of Catherine Thomson, my Christian Friend, deceased
16 Decemb., 1646.
Written by Isaac Watts | Create an image from this poem

Hymn 135

 The love of Christ shed abroad in the heart.

Eph. 3:16ff. 

Come, dearest Lord, descend and dwell
By faith and love in every breast;
Then shall we know, and taste, and feel
The joys that cannot be expressed.

Come, fill our hearts with inward strength,
Make our enlarged souls possess,
And learn the height, and breadth, and length
Of thine unmeasurable grace.

Now to the God whose power can do
More than our thoughts or wishes know,
Be everlasting honors done
By all the church, through Christ his Son.
Written by Isaac Watts | Create an image from this poem

Psalm 119 part 7

 Imperfection of nature, and perfection of scripture.

ver. 96, paraphrased. 

Let all the heathen writers join
To form one perfect book;
Great God! if once compared with thine,
How mean their writings look!

Not the most perfect rules they gave
Could show one sin forgiv'n,
Nor lead a step beyond the grave;
But thine conduct to heav'n.

I've seen an end to what we call
Perfection here below;
How short the powers of nature fall,
And can no further go!

Yet men would fain be just with God
By works their hands have wrought;
But thy commands, exceeding broad,
Extend to every thought.

In vain we boast perfection here,
While sin defiles our frame,
And sinks our virtues down so far,
They scarce deserve the name.

Our faith, and love, and every grace,
Fall far below thy word;
But perfect truth and righteousness
Dwell only with the Lord.

Book: Radiant Verses: A Journey Through Inspiring Poetry