Posts Tagged ‘Christian Poetry’

by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Speak low to me, my Savior, low and sweet
From out the hallelujahs, sweet and low,
Lest I should fear and fall, and miss thee so,
Who art not missed by any that entreat.

Speak to me as to Mary at they feet!
And if no precious gums my hands bestow,
Let my tears drop like amber, while I go
In reach of thy divinest voice complete
In humanest affection – thus, in sooth,
To lose the sense of losing.

As a child, whose song-bird seeks the wood for evermore,
Is sung to in its stead by mother’s mouth,
Till, sinking on her breast, love-reconciled,
He sleeps the faster that he wept before.


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Rock of My Heart

by Amy Carmichael

Rock of my heart and my Fortress Tower,
dear are Thy thoughts to me;
Like the unfolding of leaf and flower
opening silently.
And on the edge of these Thy ways,
standing in awe as heretofore,
Thee do I worship, Thee do I praise
and adore.

Rock of my heart and my Fortress Tower,
dear is Thy love to me;
Search I the world for a word of power,
find it at Calvary.
O deeps of love that rise and flow
round about me and all things mine,
Love of all loves, in Thee I know
Love Divine


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Leave me, O Love, which reaches but to dust;
and thou, my mind, aspire to higher things;
grow rich in that which never taketh rust;
whatever fades, but fading pleasure brings.

Draw in thy beams, and humble all thy might
to that sweet yoke where lasting freedoms be,
which breaks the clouds, and opens forth the light,
that doth both shine and give us sight to see.

Oh, take fast hold; let that light be they guide
in this small course which birth draws out to death,
and think how evil become him to slide,
who seeketh heaven, and comes of heavenly breath.

Then farewell, world; thy uttermost I see:
Eternal Love, maintain thy life in me.

–Philip Sidney (1554-1586)


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Doing All to Stand

The dark cloud of trial
looms large overhead

I know the signs
I want to circle my wagons
okay–my wagon

my heart says it’ll be hard
my enemy whispers, “He’s left you”
everything in me
wants to circle the drain of my past
shouting, “alone! I’m alone!”

But God–
Your patient hand steering me,
through perilous forests of loss and
seemingly endless quagmire of sorrow,
has taught me:
I am not alone
I am never alone
I was never alone
I will never be alone
this young lion remembers

But the winds of adversity still blow
there’s still more in my heart
You’d have me know
my adversary whispers in my questions
“this will be hard,
you will suffer loss”

everything in broken me wants to cut bait
jump ship
throw out the baby with the bath water
move into crisis mode
find a solution

on come my plans
contingency plans
plans for protection
plans for the future
plans to stay busy
but not Your plans

You say, “Lift your head, sweet child
I have plans for you
good plans
future plans
hope-filled plans”

I don’t need more of my plans
I need faith
to believe Your plans

I must stand
doing all to stand
just stand
just wait
just be

He’s coming
He’s watching
He sees
He knows

It’s Him willing and doing
for His good pleasure

I am His
I am accepted
I am beloved
I am adopted
I am under the blood

this young lion rests


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I never saw a moor;

I never saw a sea;

Yet know I how the heather looks,

and what a wave must be.

I never spoke with God,

nor visited in heaven,

Yet certain am I of the spot

As if the chart were given.

                  Emily Dickinson


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 When storms arise
And dark'ning skies
About me threat'ning lower,
To thee, O Lord, I raise mine eyes;
To thee my tortured spirit flies
For solace in that hour.

The mighty arm
Will let no harm
Come near me nor befall me;

Thy voice shall quiet my alarm,
When life's great battle waxeth warm--
No foeman shall apall me.

Upon thy breast
Secure I rest,
From sorrow and vexation;
No more my sinful cares oppressed,
But in thy presence ever blest,
O God of my salvation

Paul Laurence Dunbar
Paul Laurence Dunbar, Poet

Paul Laurence Dunbar (June 27, 1872 – February 9, 1906) was an American poet, novelist, and playwright of the late 19th and early 20th centuries. Born in Dayton, Ohio, to parents who had been enslaved in Kentucky before the American Civil War, Dunbar began to write stories and verse when still a child; he was president of his high school’s literary society. He published his first poems at the age of 16 in a Dayton newspaper. 

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I awake to Thee

Today I awake to Thee, Sweet Jesus
today I awake to Thee

My thoughts scurry to the work
I bid them quiet be

I take the water of the Word
and wash myself in it

And then with pen and journal
I in Your presence sit

I find my joy as I wait on You
and hear Your voice again


MaryBeth Mullin

Copyright 2018

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