Poems
02.09.2010 / 20.29 pm
 
by Cecil Frances Alexander
Rating: 4.20
Votes: 5
THERE is a green hill far away,
Without a city wall,
Where the dear Lord was crucified,
Who died to save us all.

We may not know, we cannot tell
What pains he had to bear,
But we believe it was for us
He hung and suffer'd there.

He died that we might be forgiven,
He died to make us good,
That we might go at last to heaven,
Sav'd by his precious blood.

There was no other good enough
To pay the price of sin;
He only could unlock the gate
Of heaven, and let us in.

O dearly, dearly has he lov'd,
And we must love him too,
And trust in his redeeming blood,
And try his works to do.


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patricia at 2009-02-13

this poem signs that God love us
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All Things Bright And Beautiful

All things bright and beautiful,
All creatures great and small,
Rating: 4.00
Votes: 23
 
Victoria Sackville-WestVictoria Sackville-West (6)
(1892 - 1962)
Was an English poet, novelist and gardener. Her long narrative poem, The Land, won the Hawthornden Prize in 1927.
Thomas Babington MacaulayThomas Babington Macaulay (9)
(1800 - 1859)
Was a nineteenth-century English poet, historian and Whig politician and Member of Parliament for Edinburgh.
Douglas Brooke Wheelton SladenDouglas Brooke Wheelton Sladen (6)
(1856 - 1947)
Douglas Sladen was an English author.
Aleksandr Aleksandrovich BlokAleksandr Aleksandrovich Blok (9)
(1880 - 1921)
Aleksandr Blok (Alexander Blok ), was a Russian poet and dramatist, the principal representative of Russian Symbolism.

Temptation

The billows swell, the winds are high,
Clouds overcast my wintry sky;
Rating: 0.00
Votes: 0
 

The Merry Month Of May

O THE month of May, the merry month of May,
So frolic, so gay, and so green, so green, so green!
Rating: 0.00
Votes: 0
 

America, America!

I am a poet of the Hudson River and the heights above it,
the lights, the stars, and the bridges
Rating: 1.00
Votes: 1
 

Of The Four Ages Of Man

Lo, now four other act upon the stage,
Childhood and Youth, the Many and Old age:
Rating: 0.00
Votes: 0
 

Syrinx

Like the foghorn that's all lung,
the wind chime that's all percussion,
Rating: 0.00
Votes: 0
 








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