Famous Short Jesus Poems
Famous Short Jesus Poems. Short Jesus Poetry by Famous Poets. A collection of the all-time best Jesus short poems
by
Sylvia Plath
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.
by
Omar Khayyam
Now the New Year reviving old Desires,
The thoughtful Soul to Solitude retires,
Where the White Hand of Moses on the Bough
Puts out, and Jesus from the Ground suspires.
by
Siegfried Sassoon
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.
by
Emily Dickinson
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?
by
Emily Dickinson
Do People moulder equally,
They bury, in the Grave?
I do believe a Species
As positively live
As I, who testify it
Deny that I -- am dead --
And fill my Lungs, for Witness --
From Tanks -- above my Head --
I say to you, said Jesus --
That there be standing here --
A Sort, that shall not taste of Death --
If Jesus was sincere --
I need no further Argue --
That statement of the Lord
Is not a controvertible --
He told me, Death was dead --
by
Isaac Watts
Saints in the hands of Christ
Jn.
10:28,29.
Firm as the earth thy gospel stands,
My Lord, my hope, my trust;
If I am found in Jesus' hands,
My soul can ne'er be lost.
His honor is engaged to save
The meanest of his sheep;
All that his heav'nly Father gave
His hands securely keep.
Nor death nor hell shall e'er remove
His favorites from his breast;
In the dear bosom of his love
They must for ever rest.
by
Edgar Lee Masters
They got me into the Sunday-school
In Spoon River
And tried to get me to drop Confucius for Jesus.
I could have been no worse off
If I had tried to get them to drop Jesus for Confucius.
For, without any warning, as if it were a prank,
And sneaking up behind me, Harry Wiley,
The minister's son, caved my ribs into my lungs,
With a blow of his fist.
Now I shall never sleep with my ancestors in Pekin,
And no children shall worship at my grave.
by
Emily Dickinson
"Unto Me?" I do not know you --
Where may be your House?
"I am Jesus -- Late of Judea --
Now -- of Paradise" --
Wagons -- have you -- to convey me?
This is far from Thence --
"Arms of Mine -- sufficient Phaeton --
Trust Omnipotence" --
I am spotted -- "I am Pardon" --
I am small -- "The Least
Is esteemed in Heaven the Chiefest --
Occupy my House" --
by
Emily Dickinson
'Twas Love -- not me --
Oh punish -- pray --
The Real one died for Thee --
Just Him -- not me --
Such Guilt -- to love Thee -- most!
Doom it beyond the Rest --
Forgive it -- last --
'Twas base as Jesus -- most!
Let Justice not mistake --
We Two -- looked so alike --
Which was the Guilty Sake --
'Twas Love's -- Now Strike!
by
Carl Sandburg
THE WASHERWOMAN is a member of the Salvation Army.
And over the tub of suds rubbing underwear clean
She sings that Jesus will wash her sins away
And the red wrongs she has done God and man
Shall be white as driven snow.
Rubbing underwear she sings of the Last Great Washday.
by
William Blake
Truly My Satan thou art but a Dunce
And dost not know the Garment from the Man
Every Harlot was a Virgin once
Nor canst thou ever change Kate into Nan
Tho thou art Worship'd by the Names Divine
Of Jesus & Jehovah thou art still
The Son of Morn in weary Nights decline
The lost Travellers Dream under the Hill
by
James Tate
Jesus got up one day a little later than usual.
He had been dream-
ing so deep there was nothing left in his head.
What was it?
A nightmare, dead bodies walking all around him, eyes rolled
back, skin falling off.
But he wasn't afraid of that.
It was a beau-
tiful day.
How 'bout some coffee? Don't mind if I do.
Take a little
ride on my donkey, I love that donkey.
Hell, I love everybody.
by
Emily Dickinson
Proud of my broken heart, since thou didst break it,
Proud of the pain I did not feel till thee,
Proud of my night, since thou with moons dost slake it,
Not to partake thy passion, my humility.
Thou can'st not boast, like Jesus, drunken without companion
Was the strong cup of anguish brewed for the Nazarene
Thou can'st not pierce tradition with the peerless puncture,
See! I usurped thy crucifix to honor mine!
by
Edward Taylor
Jesus got up one day a little later than usual.
He had been dream-
ing so deep there was nothing left in his head.
What was it?
A nightmare, dead bodies walking all around him, eyes rolled
back, skin falling off.
But he wasn't afraid of that.
It was a beau-
tiful day.
How 'bout some coffee? Don't mind if I do.
Take a little
ride on my donkey, I love that donkey.
Hell, I love everybody.
by
Emily Dickinson
Just so -- Jesus -- raps --
He -- doesn't weary --
Last -- at the Knocker --
And first -- at the Bell.
Then -- on divinest tiptoe -- standing --
Might He but spy the lady's soul --
When He -- retires --
Chilled -- or weary --
It will be ample time for -- me --
Patient -- upon the steps -- until then --
Hears! I am knocking -- low at thee.
by
Anne Sexton
Many a miner has gone
into the deep pit
to receive the dust of a kiss,
an ore-cell.
He has gone with his lamp
full of mole eyes
deep deep and has brought forth
Jesus at Gethsemane.
Body of moss, body of glass,
body of peat, how sharp
you lie, emerald as heavy
as a golf course, ruby as dark
as an afterbirth,
diamond as white as sun
on the sea, coal, dark mother,
brood mother, let the sea birds
bring you into our lives
as from a distant island,
heavy as death.
by
Robert Burns
BLESS Jesus Christ, O Cardonessp,
With grateful, lifted eyes,
Who taught that not the soul alone,
But body too shall rise;
For had He said “the soul alone
From death I will deliver,”
Alas, alas! O Cardoness,
Then hadst thou lain for ever.
by
Emily Dickinson
Jesus! thy Crucifix
Enable thee to guess
The smaller size!
Jesus! thy second face
Mind thee in Paradise
Of ours!
by
Emily Dickinson
He forgot -- and I -- remembered --
'Twas an everyday affair --
Long ago as Christ and Peter --
"Warmed them" at the "Temple fire.
"
"Thou wert with him" -- quoth "the Damsel"?
"No" -- said Peter, 'twasn't me --
Jesus merely "looked" at Peter --
Could I do aught else -- to Thee?
by
Emily Dickinson
At least -- to pray -- is left -- is left --
Oh Jesus -- in the Air --
I know not which thy chamber is --
I'm knocking -- everywhere --
Thou settest Earthquake in the South --
And Maelstrom, in the Sea --
Say, Jesus Christ of Nazareth --
Hast thou no Arm for Me?
by
Emily Dickinson
Dying! Dying in the night!
Won't somebody bring the light
So I can see which way to go
Into the everlasting snow?
And "Jesus"! Where is Jesus gone?
They said that Jesus -- always came --
Perhaps he doesn't know the House --
This way, Jesus, Let him pass!
Somebody run to the great gate
And see if Dollie's coming! Wait!
I hear her feet upon the stair!
Death won't hurt -- now Dollie's here!
by
Emily Dickinson
He preached upon "Breadth" till it argued him narrow --
The Broad are too broad to define
And of "Truth" until it proclaimed him a Liar --
The Truth never flaunted a Sign --
Simplicity fled from his counterfeit presence
As Gold the Pyrites would shun --
What confusion would cover the innocent Jesus
To meet so enabled a Man!
by
William Blake
When Jesus Christ was four years old
The angels brought Him toys of gold,
Which no man ever had bought or sold.
And yet with these He would not play.
He made Him small fowl out of clay,
And blessed them till they flew away:
Tu creasti Domine
Jesus Christ, Thou child so wise,
Bless mine hands and fill mine eyes,
And bring my soul to Paradise.
by
Constantine P Cavafy
My dear old father,
who always loved me the same;
my dear old father I lament
who died the day before yesterday, just before dawn.
Jesus Christ, it is my daily effort
to observe the precepts
of Thy most holy church in all my acts,
in all words, in all thoughts.
And all those who renounce Thee
I shun.
-- But now I lament;
I bewail, Christ, for my father
although he was -- a horrible thing to say --
a priest at the accursed Serapeum.
by
Anonymous
I want to be like Jesus,
So lowly and so meek;
For no one marked an angry word,
Whoever heard him speak.
I want to be like Jesus,
So frequently in prayer;
Alone upon the mountain top,
He met his Father there.
I want to be like Jesus:
I never, never find,
That he, though persecuted, was
To any one unkind.
I want to be like Jesus,
Engaged in doing good;
So that of me it may be said,
I have done what I could.