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Best Famous My Weary Soul Poems

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Written by Anne Bronte | Create an image from this poem

The Students Serenade

 I have slept upon my couch,
But my spirit did not rest,
For the labours of the day
Yet my weary soul opprest; 
And, before my dreaming eyes
Still the learned volumes lay,
And I could not close their leaves,
And I could not turn away.
But I oped my eyes at last, And I heard a muffled sound; 'Twas the night-breeze, come to say That the snow was on the ground.
Then I knew that there was rest On the mountain's bosom free; So I left my fevered couch, And I flew to waken thee! I have flown to waken thee -- For, if thou wilt not arise, Then my soul can drink no peace From these holy moonlight skies.
And, this waste of virgin snow To my sight will not be fair, Unless thou wilt smiling come, Love, to wander with me there.
Then, awake! Maria, wake! For, if thou couldst only know How the quiet moonlight sleeps On this wilderness of snow, And the groves of ancient trees, In their snowy garb arrayed, Till they stretch into the gloom Of the distant valley's shade; I know thou wouldst rejoice To inhale this bracing air; Thou wouldst break thy sweetest sleep To behold a scene so fair.
O'er these wintry wilds, alone, Thou wouldst joy to wander free; And it will not please thee less, Though that bliss be shared with me.

Written by Thomas Gray | Create an image from this poem

Ode On A Distant Prospect Of Eton College

 Ye distant spires, ye antique towers,
That crown the watery glade,
Where grateful Science still adores
Her Henry's holy shade;
And ye, that from the stately brow
Of Windsor's heights th' expanse below
Of grove, of lawn, of mead survey,
Whose turf, whose shade, whose flowers among
Wanders the hoary Thames along
His silver-winding way.
Ah happy hills, ah pleasing shade, Ah fields beloved in vain, Where once my careless childhood strayed, A stranger yet to pain! I feel the gales, that from ye blow, A momentary bliss bestow, As waving fresh their gladsome wing My weary soul they seem to soothe, And, redolent of joy and youth, To breathe a second spring.
Say, Father Thames, for thou hast seen Full many a sprightly race Disporting on thy margent green The paths of pleasure trace, Who foremost now delight to cleave With pliant arm thy glassy wave? The captive linnet which enthral? What idle progeny succeed To chase the rolling circle's speed, Or urge the flying ball? While some on earnest business bent Their murm'ring labours ply 'Gainst graver hours, that bring constraint To sweeten liberty: Some bold adventurers disdain The limits of their little reign, And unknown regions dare descry: Still as they run they look behind, They hear a voice in every wind, And snatch a fearful joy.
Gay hope is theirs by fancy fed, Less pleasing when possest; The tear forgot as soon as shed, The sunshine of the breast: Theirs buxom health of rosy hue, Wild wit, invention ever-new, And lively cheer of vigour born; The thoughtless day, the easy night, The spirits pure, the slumbers light, That fly th' approach of morn.
Alas! regardless of their doom The little victims play! No sense have they of ills to come, Nor care beyond today: Yet see how all around 'em wait The Ministers of human fate, And black Misfortune's baleful train! Ah, show them where in ambush stand, To seize their prey, the murd'rous band! Ah, tell them they are men! These shall the fury Passions tear, The vultures of the mind, Disdainful Anger, pallid Fear, And Shame that skulks behind; Or pining Love shall waste their youth, Or Jealousy with rankling tooth, That inly gnaws the secret heart, And Envy wan, and faded Care, Grim-visaged comfortless Despair, And Sorrow's piercing dart.
Ambition this shall tempt to rise, Then whirl the wretch from high, To bitter Scorn a sacrifice, And grinning Infamy.
The stings of Falsehood those shall try, And hard Unkindness' altered eye, That mocks the tear it forced to flow; And keen Remorse with blood defiled, And moody Madness laughing wild Amid severest woe.
Lo, in the vale of years beneath A grisly troop are seen, The painful family of Death, More hideous than their Queen: This racks the joints, this fires the veins, That every labouring sinew strains, Those in the deeper vitals rage: Lo, Poverty, to fill the band, That numbs the soul with icy hand, And slow-consuming Age.
To each his suff'rings: all are men, Condemned alike to groan; The tender for another's pain, Th' unfeeling for his own.
Yet ah! why should they know their fate? Since sorrow never comes too late, And happiness too swiftly flies.
Thought would destroy their paradise.
No more;—where ignorance is bliss, 'Tis folly to be wise.
Written by Isaac Watts | Create an image from this poem

Hymn 152

 Sinai and Zion.
12:18ff Not to the terrors of the Lord, The tempest, fire, and smoke; Not to the thunder of that word Which God on Sinai spoke; But we are come to Zion's hill, The city of our God, Where milder words declare his will, And spread his love abroad.
Behold th' innumerable host Of angels clothed in light! Behold the spirits of the just, Whose faith is turned to sight! Behold the blest assembly there Whose names are writ in heav'n! And God, the Judge of all, declares Their vilest sins forgiv'n.
The saints on earth and all the dead But one communion make; All join in Christ their living Head, And of his grace partake.
In such society as this My weary soul would rest; The man that dwells where Jesus is Must be for ever blest.
Written by Isaac Watts | Create an image from this poem

Psalm 42 Part 1

1-5 C.
Desertion and hope; or, Complaint of absence from public worship.
With earnest longings of the mind, My God, to thee I look; So pants the hunted hart to find And taste the cooling brook.
When shall I see thy courts of grace, And meet my God again? So long an absence from thy face My heart endures with pain.
Temptations vex my weary soul, And tears are my repast; The foe insults without control, "And where's your God at last?" 'Tis with a mournful pleasure now I think on ancient days; Then to thy house did numbers go, And all our work was praise.
But why, my soul, sunk down so far Beneath this heavy load? Why do my thoughts indulge despair, And sin against my God? Hope in the Lord, whose mighty hand Can all thy woes remove, For I shall yet before him stand, And sing restoring love.