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Spiritual Poems


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Please add a poem that speaks to your spirit in some way.


For starters, the poem I have on my fridge:




This is how a human being can change:

There's a worm addicted to eating grape leaves

Suddenly he wakes up, call it grace, whatever, something

wakes him and he's no longer a worm

He's the entire vineyard

and the orchard too, the fruit, the trunks,

a growing wisdom and joy

that doesn't need to devour



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Marvelous topic!


A popular selection often scored as a hymn. An 18C version by the American master William Billings sung by Netherlanders in English is at the end.


I am the rose of Sharon, and the lily of the valleys.


2 As the lily among thorns, so is my love among the daughters.


3 As the apple tree among the trees of the wood, so is my beloved among the sons. I sat down under his shadow with great delight, and his fruit was sweet to my taste.


4 He brought me to the banqueting house, and his banner over me was love.


5 Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples: for I am sick of love.


6 His left hand is under my head, and his right hand doth embrace me.


7 I charge you, O ye daughters of Jerusalem, by the roes, and by the hinds of the field, that ye stir not up, nor awake my love, till he please.


8 The voice of my beloved! behold, he cometh leaping upon the mountains, skipping upon the hills.


9 My beloved is like a roe or a young hart: behold, he standeth behind our wall, he looketh forth at the windows, shewing himself through the lattice.


10 My beloved spake, and said unto me, Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away.


11 For, lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone;


12 The flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land;


13 The fig tree putteth forth her green figs, and the vines with the tender grape give a good smell. Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away.


14 O my dove, that art in the clefts of the rock, in the secret places of the stairs, let me see thy countenance, let me hear thy voice; for sweet is thy voice, and thy countenance is comely.


15 Take us the foxes, the little foxes, that spoil the vines: for our vines have tender grapes.


16 My beloved is mine, and I am his: he feedeth among the lilies.


17 Until the day break, and the shadows flee away, turn, my beloved, and be thou like a roe or a young hart upon the mountains of Bether.


Song of Songs, 1:2


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Not actually a poem ... it's a letter but reads like a poem ... and definitely spiritual


April 16, 1887

My dear Friend,


I send you some of the most wonderful whiskey that ever drove the skeleton from a feast or painted landscapes in the brain of man. It is the mingled souls of wheat and corn. In it you will find the sunshine and the shadows that chased each other over the billowy fields; the breath of June; the carol of the lark; the dews of night; the wealth of summer and autumn’s rich content, all golden with imprisoned light.

Drink it—and you will hear the voices of men and maidens singing the “Harvest Home,” mingled with the laughter of children.
Drink it—and you will feel within your blood the star-lit dawns, the dreamy, tawny dusks of many perfect days.

For forty years this liquid joy has been within the happy staves of oak, longing to touch the lips of men.


Yours always,

R. G. Ingersoll

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  • 6 years later...

Just saw this thread. A chance to share the closing section of "Little Gidding", the last quartet of T.S.Eliot's "Four Quartets":-


We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.
Through the unknown, remembered gate
When the last of earth left to discover
Is that which was the beginning;
At the source of the longest river
The voice of the hidden waterfall
And the children in the apple-tree
Not known, because not looked for
But heard, half-heard, in the stillness
Between two waves of the sea.
Quick now, here, now, always—
A condition of complete simplicity
(Costing not less than everything)
And all shall be well and
All manner of thing shall be well
When the tongues of flame are in-folded
Into the crowned knot of fire
And the fire and the rose are one.

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Just to share, one from Emily Dickinson.


Hope” is the thing with feathers –
That perches in the soul –
And sings the tune without the words –
And never stops – at all –

And sweetest – in the Gale – is heard –
And sore must be the storm –
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm –

I’ve heard it in the chillest land –
And on the strangest Sea –
Yet – never – in Extremity,
It asked a crumb – of me.

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On 10/31/2022 at 2:10 AM, romansh said:

An animated poem from an atheistic point of view.

Warning may contain Australians and language. Storm


I love Tim Minchin....and not just because he's a fellow Aussie! (Even raised in my home city) :)

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  • 1 month later...

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