Understanding How To Pray Effectively is a foundational book by Everest John Alexander. Check out the details here.
Poems of Faith can lift the spirits. They help us see that we are not alone. Others have trod the path before us. They have conquered even through their dark days. Let these poems of faith inspire you to keep going and to reach new heights for God. If you have a favorite poem of faith, let me know and I may include it here.
A traveler crossed a frozen stream
In trembling fear one day;
Later a teamster drove across,
And whistled all the way.
Great faith and little faith alike
Were granted safe convoy;
One had the pangs of needless fear,
The other all the joy.
No coward soul is mine,
No trembler in the world's storm-troubled sphere:
I see Heaven's glories shine,
And faith shine equal, arming me for fear.
Emily Jane Bronte - Last Lines
Doubt sees the obstacles;
Faith sees the way.
Doubt sees the darkest night;
Faith sees the day.
Doubt dreads to take a step;
Faith soars on high.
Doubt questions, "Who believes?"
Faith answers, "I."
Tomorrow's plans I do not know,
I only know this minute;
But He will say, "This is the way,
By faith walk ye in it."
He fought his doubts, and gathered strength,
He would not make his judgment blind,
He faced the spectres of the mind
And laid them; thus he came at length,
To find a stronger faith his own,
And Power was with him in the night,
Which makes the darkness and the light,
And dwells not in the light alone.
Alfred, Lord Tennyson
God ploughed one day with an earthquake,"
And drove his furrows deep!"
The huddling plains upstarted."
The hills were all a-leap!"
But that is the mountains' secret,"
Age-hidden in their breast;"
"God's peace is everlasting,""
Are the dream-words of their rest."
He hath made them the haunt of beauty,"
The home elect of his grace;"
He spreadeth his mornings on them,"
His sunsets light their face."
His thunders tread in music"
Of footfalls echoing long,"
And carry majestic greeting"
Around the silent throng."
His winds bring messages to them,"
Wild storm-news from the main;"
They sing it down to the valleys"
In the love-song of the rain."
Green tribes from far come trooping,"
And over the uplands flock;"
He weaveth the zones together"
In robes for his risen rock."
They are nurseries for young rivers;"
Nests for his flying cloud;"
Homesteads for new-born races,"
Masterful, free, and proud."
The people of tired cities"
Come up to their shrines and pray;"
God freshens again within them,"
As he passes by all day."
And lo, I have caught their secret,"
The beauty deeper than all."
This faith--that life's hard moments,"
When the jarring sorrows befall,"
Are but God ploughing his mountains;"
And the mountains yet shall be"
The source of his grace and freshness"
And his peace everlasting to me."
WILLIAM CHANNING GANNETT
Strong Son of God, immortal Love,
Whom we, that have not seen thy face,
By faith, and faith alone, embrace,
Believing where we cannot prove;
Thine are these orbs of light and shade;
Thou madest Life in man and brute;
Thou madest Death; and lo, thy foot
Is on the skull which thou hast made.
Thou wilt not leave us in the dust:
Thou madest man, he knows not why;
He thinks he was not made to die;
And thou hast made him: thou art just.
Thou seemest human and divine,
The highest, holiest manhood, thou:
Our wills are ours, we know not how;
Our wills are ours, to make them thine.
Our little systems have their day;
They have their day and cease to be:
They are but broken lights of thee,
And thou, O Lord, art more than they.
We have but faith: we cannot know;
For knowledge is of things we see;
And yet we trust it comes from thee,
A beam in darkness: let it grow.
Let knowledge grow from more to more,
But more of reverence in us dwell;
That mind and soul, according well,
May make one music as before,
But vaster. We are fools and slight;
We mock thee when we do not fear:
But help thy foolish ones to bear;
Help thy vain worlds to bear thy light.
Forgive what seemed my sin in me;
What seemed my worth since I began;
For merit lives from man to man,
And not from man, O Lord, to thee.
Forgive my grief for one removed,
Thy creature, whom I found so fair.
I trust he lives in thee, and there
I find him worthier to be loved.
Forgive these wild and wandering cries,
Confusions of a wasted youth;
Forgive them where they fail in truth,
And in thy wisdom make me wise.
ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON
He is gone! beyond the skies,
A cloud receives him from our eyes:
Gone beyond the highest height
Of mortal gaze or angel's flight:
Through the veils of time and space,
Passed into the holiest place:
All the toil, the sorrow done,
All the battle fought and won.
He is gone; and we return,
And our hearts within us burn;
Olivet no more shall greet
With welcome shout his coming feet:
Never shall we track him more
On Gennesareth's glistening shore:
Never in that look or voice
Shall Zion's walls again rejoice.
He is gone; and we remain
In this world of sin and pain:
In the void which he has left,
On this earth of him bereft,
We have still his work to do,
We can still his path pursue:
Seek him both in friend and foe,
In ourselves his image show.
He is gone; we heard him say,
"Good that I should go away";
Gone is that dear form and face,
But not gone his present grace;
Though himself no more we see,
Comfortless we cannot be;
No! his Spirit still is ours,
Quickening, freshening all our powers.
He is gone; towards their goal
World and church must onward roll;
Far behind we leave the past,
Forward are our glances cast;
Still his words before us range
Through the ages, as they change:
Wheresoe'er the truth shall lead,
He will give whate'er we need.
He is gone; but we once more
Shall behold him as before,
In the heaven of heavens the same
As on earth he went and came.
In the many mansions there
Place for us he will prepare:
In that world, unseen, unknown,
He and we may yet be one.
He is gone; but not in vain,--
Wait until he comes again:
He is risen, he is not here;
Far above this earthly sphere:
Evermore in heart and mind,
Where our peace in him we find,
To our own eternal Friend,
Thitherward let us ascend.
ARTHUR PENRHYN STANLEY
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