Theme:

God

Browse poems about

God

The First Snowfall

The snow had begun in the gloaming,
And busily all the night
Had been heaping field and highway
With a silence deep and white.

Every pine and fir and hemlock
Wore ermine too dear for an earl,
And the poorest twig on the elm-tree
Was ridged inch deep with pearl.

From sheds new-roofed with Carrara
Came Chanticleer’s muffled crow,
The stiff rails were softened to swan’s-down,
And still fluttered down the snow.

I stood and watched by the window
The noiseless work of the sky,
And the sudden flurries of snow-birds,
Like brown leaves whirling by.

I thought of a mound in sweet Auburn
Where a little headstone stood;
How the flakes were folding it gently,
As did robins the babes in the wood.

Up spoke our own little Mabel,
Saying, “Father, who makes it snow?”
And I told of the good All-father
Who cares for us here below.

Again I looked at the snow-fall,
And thought of the leaden sky
That arched o’er our first great sorrow,
When that mound was heaped so high.

I remembered the gradual patience
That fell from that cloud-like snow,
Flake by flake, healing and hiding
The scar of our deep-plunged woe.

And again to the child I whispered,
“The snow that husheth all,
Darling, the merciful Father
Alone can make it fall!”

Then, with eyes that saw not, I kissed her;
And she, kissing back, could not know
That my kiss was given to her sister,
Folded close under deepening snow.

The First Snowfall
Yussouf

A stranger came one night to Yussouf’s tent,

Saying, “Behold one outcast and in dread,

Against whose life the bow of power is bent,

Who flies, and hath not where to lay his head;

I come to thee for shelter and for food,

To Yussouf, called through all our tribes ‘The Good.’”

“This tent is mine,” said Yussouf, “but no more

Than it is God’s; come in, and be at peace;

Freely shalt thou partake of all my store

As I of his who buildeth over these

Our tents his glorious roof of night and day,

And at whose door none ever yet heard Nay.”

So Yussouf entertained his guest that night,

And, waking him ere day, said: “Here is gold,

My swiftest horse is saddled for thy flight,

Depart before the prying day grow bold.”

As one lamp lights another, nor grows less,

So nobleness enkindleth nobleness.

That inward light the stranger’s face made grand,

Which shines from all self-conquest; kneeling low,

He bowed his forehead upon Yussouf’s hand,

Sobbing: “O Sheik, I cannot leave thee so;

I will repay thee; all this thou hast done

Unto that Ibrahim who slew thy son!”

“Take thrice the gold,” said Yussouf, “for with thee

Into the desert, never to return,

My one black thought shall ride away from me;

First-born, for whom by day and night I yearn,

Balanced and just are all of God’s decrees;

Thou art avenged, my first-born, sleep in peace!”

Yussouf
The Toys

My little Son, who look’d from thoughtful eyes

And moved and spoke in quiet grown-up wise,

Having my law the seventh time disobey’d,

I struck him, and dismiss’d

With hard words and unkiss’d,

—His Mother, who was patient, being dead.

Then, fearing lest his grief should hinder sleep,

I visited his bed,

But found him slumbering deep,

With darken’d eyelids, and their lashes yet

From his late sobbing wet.

And I, with moan,

Kissing away his tears, left others of my own;

For, on a table drawn beside his head,

He had put, within his reach,

A box of counters and a red-vein’d stone,

A piece of glass abraded by the beach,

And six or seven shells,

A bottle with bluebells,

And two French copper coins, ranged there with careful art,

To comfort his sad heart.

So when that night I pray’d

To God, I wept, and said:

Ah, when at last we lie with trancèd breath,

Not vexing Thee in death,

And Thou rememberest of what toys

We made our joys,

How weakly understood

Thy great commanded good,

Then, fatherly not less

Than I whom Thou hast moulded from the clay,

Thou’lt leave Thy wrath, and say,

‘I will be sorry for their childishness.’

The Toys
The Annunciation

She bows her head

Submissive, yet

Her downcast glance

Asks the angel, “Why,

For this romance,

Do I qualify?”

The Annunciation
Mimnermus in Church

You promise heavens free from strife,

Pure truth, and perfect change of will;

But sweet, sweet is this human life,

So sweet, I fain would breathe it still:

Your chilly stars I can forego,

This warm kind world is all I know.

You say there is no substance here,

One great reality above:

Back from that void I shrink in fear,

And child-like hide myself in love:

Show me what angels feel. Till then,

I cling, a mere weak man, to men.

You bid me lift my mean desires

From faltering lips and fitful veins

To sexless souls, ideal quires,

Unwearied voices, wordless strains:

My mind with fonder welcome owns

One dear dead friend’s remembered tones.

Forsooth the present we must give

To that which cannot pass away;

All beauteous things for which we live

By laws of time and space decay.

But oh, the very reason why

I clasp them, is because they die.

Mimnermus in Church
Prayer of Columbus

My terminus near,

The clouds already closing in upon me,

The voyage balk’d—the course disputed, lost,

I yield my ships to Thee.

Steersman unseen! henceforth the helms are Thine;

Take Thou command—(what to my petty skill Thy navigation?)

My hands, my limbs grow nerveless;

My brain feels rack’d, bewilder’d; Let the old timbers part—I will not part!

I will cling fast to Thee, O God, though the waves buffet me;

Thee, Thee, at least, I know.

Is it the prophet’s thought I speak, or am I raving?

What do I know of life? what of myself?

I know not even my own work, past or present;

Dim, ever-shifting guesses of it spread before me,

Of newer, better worlds, their mighty parturition,

Mocking, perplexing me.

And these things I see suddenly—what mean they?

As if some miracle, some hand divine unseal’d my eyes,

Shadowy, vast shapes, smile through the air and sky,

And on the distant waves sail countless ships,

And anthems in new tongues I hear saluting me.

Prayer of Columbus