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Best Famous Iniquity Poems

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

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Written by The Bible | Create an image from this poem

Psalm 103: 1-5

Bless the Lord, O my soul
And all that is within me
Forgetting not His benefits
Nor forgiveness of iniquity
Bless Him, who brings healing
And redemption to our lives
Crowning us with loving kindness
And with blessings, satisfies.

Scripture Poem © Copyright Of M.
S.
Lowndes


Written by Emily Dickinson | Create an image from this poem

A Counterfeit -- a Plated Person --

 A Counterfeit -- a Plated Person --
I would not be --
Whatever strata of Iniquity
My Nature underlie --
Truth is good Health -- and Safety, and the Sky.
How meagre, what an Exile -- is a Lie, And Vocal -- when we die --
Written by Emily Dickinson | Create an image from this poem

Heavenly Father -- take to thee

 "Heavenly Father" -- take to thee
The supreme iniquity
Fashioned by thy candid Hand
In a moment contraband --
Though to trust us -- seems to us
More respectful -- "We are Dust" --
We apologize to thee
For thine own Duplicity --
Written by John Donne | Create an image from this poem

Holy Sonnet XI: Spit In My Face You Jews And Pierce My Side

 Spit in my face you Jews, and pierce my side,
Buffet, and scoff, scourge, and crucify me,
For I have sinned, and sinned, and only he
Who could do no iniquity hath died:
But by my death can not be satisfied
My sins, which pass the Jews' impiety:
They killed once an inglorious man, but I
Crucify him daily, being now glorified.
Oh let me, then, his strange love still admire: Kings pardon, but he bore our punishment.
And Jacob came clothed in vile harsh attire But to supplant, and with gainful intent: God clothed himself in vile man's flesh, that so He might be weak enough to suffer woe.
Written by Isaac Watts | Create an image from this poem

Psalm 130

 Pardoning grace.
Out of the deeps of long distress, The borders of despair, I sent my cries to seek thy grace, My groans to move thine ear.
Great God, should thy severer eye, And thine impartial hand, Mark and revenge iniquity, No mortal flesh could stand.
But there are pardons with my God For crimes of high degree; Thy Son has bought them with his blood, To draw us near to thee.
[I wait for thy salvation, Lord, With strong desires I wait; My soul, invited by thy word, Stands watching at thy gate.
] [Just as the guards that keep the night Long for the morning skies, Watch the first beams of breaking light, And meet them with their eyes; So waits my soul to see thy grace, And, more intent than they, Meets the first openings of thy face, And finds a brighter day.
] [Then in the Lord let Isr'el trust, Let Isr'el seek his face; The Lord is good as well as just, And plenteous is his grace.
There's full redemption at his throne For sinners long enslaved; The great Redeemer is his Son, And Isr'el shall be saved.
]


Written by William Topaz McGonagall | Create an image from this poem

The Destroying Angel

 I dreamt a dream the other night
That an Angel appeared to me, clothed in white.
Oh! it was a beautiful sight, Such as filled my heart with delight.
And in her hand she held a flaming brand, Which she waved above her head most grand; And on me she glared with love-beaming eyes, Then she commanded me from my bed to arise.
And in a sweet voice she said, "You must follow me, And in a short time you shall see The destruction of all the public-houses in the city, Which is, my friend, the God of Heaven's decree.
" Then from my bed in fear I arose, And quickly donned on my clothes; And when that was done she said, " Follow me Direct to the High Street, fearlessly.
" So with the beautiful Angel away I did go, And when we arrived at the High Street, Oh! what a show, I suppose there were about five thousand men there, All vowing vengeance against the publicans, I do declare.
Then the Angel cried with a solemn voice aloud To that vast end Godly assembled crowd, "Gentlemen belonging the fair City of Dundee, Remember I have been sent here by God to warn ye.
"That by God's decree ye must take up arms and follow me And wreck all the public-houses in this fair City, Because God cannot countenance such dens of iniquity.
Therefore, friends of God, come, follow me.
"Because God has said there's no use preaching against strong drink, Therefore, by taking up arms against it, God does think, That is the only and the effectual cure To banish it from the land, He is quite sure.
"Besides, it has been denounced in Dundee for fifty years By the friends of Temperance, while oft they have shed tears.
Therefore, God thinks there's no use denouncing it any longer, Because the more that's said against it seemingly it grows stronger.
" And while the Angel was thus addressing the people, The Devil seemed to be standing on the Townhouse Steeple, Foaming at the mouth with rage, and seemingly much annoyed, And kicking the Steeple because the public-houses wore going to be destroyed.
Then the Angel cried, " Satan, avaunt! begone!" Then he vanished in the flame, to the amazement of everyone; And waving aloft the flaming brand, That she carried in her right hand She cried, "Now, friends of the Temperance cause, follow me: For remember if's God's high decree To destroy all the public-houses in this fair City; Therefore, friends of God, let's commence this war immediately.
" Then from the High Street we all did retire, As the Angel, sent by God, did desire; And along the Perth Road we all did go, While the Angel set fire to the public-houses along that row.
And when the Perth Road public-houses were fired, she cried, " Follow me, And next I'll fire the Hawkhill public-houses instantly.
" Then away we went with the Angel, without dread or woe, And she fired the IEawkhill public-houses as onward we did go.
Then she cried, "Let's on to the Scouringburn, in God's name.
" And away to the Scouringburn we went, with our hearts aflame, As the destroying Angel did command.
And when there she fired the public-houses, which looked very grand.
And when the public-houses there were blazing like a kiln, She cried, " Now, my friends, we'll march to the Bonnet Hill, And we'll fire the dens of iniquity without dismay, Therefore let's march on, my friends, without delay.
" And when we arrived at the Bonnet Hill, The Angel fired the public-houses, as she did well.
Then she cried, "We'll leave them now to their fate, And march on to the Murraygate.
" Then we marched on to the Murraygate, And the Angel fired the public-houses there, a most deserving fate.
Then to the High Street we marched and fired them there, Which was a most beautiful blaze, I do declare.
And on the High Street, old men and women were gathered there, And as the flames ascended upwards, in amazement they did stare When they saw the public-houses in a blaze, But they clapped their hands with joy and to God gave praise.
Then the Angel cried, "Thank God, Christ's Kingdom's near at hand, And there will soon be peace and plenty throughout the land, And the ravages of the demon Drink no more will be seen.
" But, alas, I started up in bed, and behold it was a dream!
Written by Robert William Service | Create an image from this poem

The Harpy

 There was a woman, and she was wise; woefully wise was she;
She was old, so old, yet her years all told were but a score and three;
And she knew by heart, from finish to start, the Book of Iniquity.
There is no hope for such as I on earth, nor yet in Heaven; Unloved I live, unloved I die, unpitied, unforgiven; A loathed jade, I ply my trade, unhallowed and unshriven.
I paint my cheeks, for they are white, and cheeks of chalk men hate; Mine eyes with wine I make them shine, that man may seek and sate; With overhead a lamp of red I sit me down and wait Until they come, the nightly scum, with drunken eyes aflame; Your sweethearts, sons, ye scornful ones -- 'tis I who know their shame.
The gods, ye see, are brutes to me -- and so I play my game.
For life is not the thing we thought, and not the thing we plan; And Woman in a bitter world must do the best she can -- Must yield the stroke, and bear the yoke, and serve the will of man; Must serve his need and ever feed the flame of his desire, Though be she loved for love alone, or be she loved for hire; For every man since life began is tainted with the mire.
And though you know he love you so and set you on love's throne; Yet let your eyes but mock his sighs, and let your heart be stone, Lest you be left (as I was left) attainted and alone.
From love's close kiss to hell's abyss is one sheer flight, I trow, And wedding ring and bridal bell are will-o'-wisps of woe, And 'tis not wise to love too well, and this all women know.
Wherefore, the wolf-pack having gorged upon the lamb, their prey, With siren smile and serpent guile I make the wolf-pack pay -- With velvet paws and flensing claws, a tigress roused to slay.
One who in youth sought truest truth and found a devil's lies; A symbol of the sin of man, a human sacrifice.
Yet shall I blame on man the shame? Could it be otherwise? Was I not born to walk in scorn where others walk in pride? The Maker marred, and, evil-starred, I drift upon His tide; And He alone shall judge His own, so I His judgment bide.
Fate has written a tragedy; its name is "The Human Heart".
The Theatre is the House of Life, Woman the mummer's part; The Devil enters the prompter's box and the play is ready to start.
Written by William Shakespeare | Create an image from this poem

Sonnet LXII

 Sin of self-love possesseth all mine eye
And all my soul and all my every part;
And for this sin there is no remedy,
It is so grounded inward in my heart.
Methinks no face so gracious is as mine, No shape so true, no truth of such account; And for myself mine own worth do define, As I all other in all worths surmount.
But when my glass shows me myself indeed, Beated and chopp'd with tann'd antiquity, Mine own self-love quite contrary I read; Self so self-loving were iniquity.
'Tis thee, myself, that for myself I praise, Painting my age with beauty of thy days.
Written by Rudyard Kipling | Create an image from this poem

The Last Chantey

 "And there was no more sea.
" Thus said The Lord in the Vault above the Cherubim Calling to the Angels and the Souls in their degree: "Lo! Earth has passed away On the smoke of Judgment Day.
That Our word may be established shall We gather up the sea?" Loud sang the souls of the jolly, jolly mariners: "Plague upon the hurricane that made us furl and flee! But the war is done between us, In the deep the Lord hath seen us -- Our bones we'll leave the barracout', and God may sink the sea!" Then said the soul of Judas that betray]ed Him: "Lord, hast Thou forgotten Thy covenant with me? How once a year I go To cool me on the floe? And Ye take my day of mercy if Ye take away the sea!" Then said the soul of the Angel of the Off-shore Wind: (He that bits the thunder when the bull-mouthed breakers flee): "I have watch and ward to keep O'er Thy wonders on the deep, And Ye take mine honour from me if Ye take away the sea!" Loud sang the souls of the jolly, jolly mariners: "Nay, but we were angry, and a hasty folk are we! If we worked the ship together Till she foundered in foul weather, Are we babes that we should clamour for a vengeance on the sea?" Then said the souls of the slaves that men threw overboard: "Kennelled in the picaroon a weary band were we; But Thy arm was strong to save, And it touched us on the wave, And we drowsed the long tides idle till Thy Trumpets tore the sea.
" Then cried the soul of the stout Apostle Paul to God: "Once we frapped a ship, and she laboured woundily.
There were fourteen score of these, And they blessed Thee on their knees, When they learned Thy Grace and Glory under Malta by the sea!" Loud sang the souls of the jolly, jolly mariners, Plucking at their harps, and they plucked unhandily: "Our thumbs are rough and tarred, And the tune is something hard -- May we lift a Deep-sea Chantey such as seamen use at sea?" Then said the souls of the gentlemen-adventurers -- Fettered wrist to bar all for red iniquity: "Ho, we revel in our chains O'er the sorrow that was Spain's; Heave or sink it, leave or drink it, we were masters of the sea!" Up spake the soul of a gray Gothavn 'speckshioner -- (He that led the flinching in the fleets of fair Dundee): "Oh, the ice-blink white and near, And the bowhead breaching clear! Will Ye whelm them all for wantonness that wallow in the sea?" Loud sang the souls of the jolly, jolly mariners, Crying: "Under Heaven, here is neither lead nor lee! Must we sing for evermore On the windless, glassy floor? Take back your golden fiddles and we'll beat to open sea!" Then stooped the Lord, and He called the good sea up to Him, And 'stablished his borders unto all eternity, That such as have no pleasure For to praise the Lord by measure, They may enter into galleons and serve Him on the sea.
Sun, wind, and cloud shall fail not from the face of it, Stinging, ringing spindrift, nor the fulmar flying free; And the ships shall go abroad To the Glory of the Lord Who heard the silly sailor-folk and gave them back their sea!
Written by William Shakespeare | Create an image from this poem

Sonnet 62: Sin of self-love possesseth all mine eye

 Sin of self-love possesseth all mine eye,
And all my soul, and all my every part;
And for this sin there is no remedy,
It is so grounded inward in my heart.
Methinks no face so gracious is as mine, No shape so true, no truth of such account; And for my self mine own worth do define, As I all other in all worths surmount.
But when my glass shows me myself indeed Beated and chapped with tanned antiquity, Mine own self-love quite contrary I read; Self so self-loving were iniquity.
'Tis thee, myself, that for my self I praise, Painting my age with beauty of thy days.

Book: Shattered Sighs