“East Coker” from Four Quartets
I. In my beginning is my end. In successionHouses rise and fall, crumble, are extended,Are removed, destroyed, restored, or in their placeIs an open field, or a factory, or a
I. In my beginning is my end. In successionHouses rise and fall, crumble, are extended,Are removed, destroyed, restored, or in their placeIs an open field, or a factory, or a
Most glorious Lord of Lyfe! that, on this day,Didst make Thy triumph over death and sin;And, having harrowd hell, didst bring awayCaptivity thence captive, us to win:This joyous day, deare
I thought I would keep the Easter Season by posting one poem a week in honor of the Risen Christ until the Ascension. Here is a lovely sonnet by Oscar Wilde:
For Friday in Easter week, I thought I would simply give us the earliest discussion of the Resurrection of Jesus we possess, and that from an eyewitness, no less. The
O dearest bloom the seasons know,Flowers of the Resurrection blow,Our hope and faith restore;And through the bitterness of deathAnd loss and sorrow, breathe a breathOf life forevermore! The thought of
The day of resurrection! Earth, tell it out abroad the Passover of gladness, the Passover of God. From death to life eternal, from earth unto the sky, our Christ hath brought us over, with hymns of
Lord, who createdst man in wealth and store,Though foolishly he lost the same,Decaying more and moreTill he becameMost poor:With theeO let me riseAs lark, harmoniously,And sing this day the victories:Then
Eleanor Farjeon Is best remembered today as the author of “Morning Has Broken”, one of the most beautiful hymns of praise of the 20th century. However, she also knew the excruciating
The last of my series of poems for the Easter Season. Pure fasted faces draw unto this feast:God comes all sweetness to your Lenten lips.You striped in secret with breath-taking
Another in a series of poems for the Easter Season. Death, be not proud, though some have called theeMighty and dreadful, for thou are not so;For those whom thou think’st
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