Chritian/Biblical poetry

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Preach

Puritan Board Sophomore
Can you all recommend Christian poetry and Biblical poetry & authors? Thanks. I am writng "The Poetic Bible". It is a lifetime work of setting forth ther Scripture in poetic form. I have finsihed Genesis (Volume I) and Exodus (Volume II). I am almost complete LEV-NUM-DEUT (Volume III)

I appreciate any recommendations.
"In Christ",
Bobby
 

VirginiaHuguenot

Puritanboard Librarian
From another thread:

Originally posted by VirginiaHuguenot
Originally posted by Laura
Originally posted by Mediedblue
Welcome to the Puritan Board, Laura. Unfortuately, I can't say I've read much Puritan poetry yet - any recommendations? Also, do you enjoy writing poetry yourself?
Absolutely - check out George Herbert, Isaac Watts (you may recognize him as a hymnodist, but he wrote hundreds of poems that were never set to music) and Edward Taylor, for starters. Actually, here is a fantastic site all full of it.

Laura,

I too am a fan of Puritan-era poetry. George Herbert is one of my favorites. That website you referenced is a good source too.

Some of my other favorites include John Donne, John Milton, Ralph Erskine, Michael Wigglesworth, and Henry Vaughan.

See this thread and this and this for some discussion on some of these poets and their works.

Two of my ancestors were Protestant poets of some reknown as well. One is Sir Thomas Wyatt the Elder (1503 - 1542), who was a friend of Anne Boleyn. The other was Francis Fontaine (1845 - 1901), who wrote among other things an epic poem about the French Huguenot colony in the 1560's in Florida.

Cheers! :book2:
 

DTK

Puritan Board Junior
One of my favorite poems, which I've used often as a sermon illustration, is from the pen of Lord Byron. His poem is based on the biblical accounts of this historical event as found in Isaiah 37, 2 Kings 19, and 2 Chronicles 32.


The Destruction of Sennacherib by Lord Byron

The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold,
And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold;
And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea,
When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.

Like the leaves of the forest when summer is green,
That host with their banners at sunset were seen;
Like the leaves of the forest when autumn hath blown,
That host on the morrow lay wither´d and strown

For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast,
And breathed in the face of the foe as he pass´d;
And the eyes of the sleepers wax´d deadly and chill,
And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still!

And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide,
But through it there roll´d not the breath of his pride;
And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf,
And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf.

And there lay the rider distorted and pale,
With the dew on his brow and the rust on his mail;
And the tents were all silent, the banners alone,
The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown.

And the widows of Asshur are loud in their wail;
And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal;
And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword,
Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord!

DTK
 

Laura

Puritan Board Junior
I've a friend with a gift for verse. She wrote this one for Reformation Day --

The pen that moves the centuries is done,
the paper dries that bears the age's sword--
a few small sentences, an iron word,
the thoughts a restless man is moved to own.
Then Truth and Justice pound the oaken door,
arousing men to come and take and read
a summons saints of old had often pled--
then whispered, shouted now as ne'er before.
The cries resound throughout the tomblike hall,
shake ancient pillars, burst the colored glass,
drown out the drone of muttered Latin mass,
awaking the cathedral of man's soul.
Thus five and ninety words make darkness flee
and echo through the vaults of history.

"Wittenberg," (c) 2005 Kilby Beisner
(remember that name!)
 

VirginiaHuguenot

Puritanboard Librarian
Bobby,

You might also enjoy reading the Book of English Christian Verse, edited by Peter Levi.

0-140-42292-7.jpg
 

VirginiaHuguenot

Puritanboard Librarian
Originally posted by Laura
I've a friend with a gift for verse. She wrote this one for Reformation Day --

The pen that moves the centuries is done,
the paper dries that bears the age's sword--
a few small sentences, an iron word,
the thoughts a restless man is moved to own.
Then Truth and Justice pound the oaken door,
arousing men to come and take and read
a summons saints of old had often pled--
then whispered, shouted now as ne'er before.
The cries resound throughout the tomblike hall,
shake ancient pillars, burst the colored glass,
drown out the drone of muttered Latin mass,
awaking the cathedral of man's soul.
Thus five and ninety words make darkness flee
and echo through the vaults of history.

"Wittenberg," (c) 2005 Kilby Beisner
(remember that name!)

Excellent poem! :up:
 

VirginiaHuguenot

Puritanboard Librarian
Originally posted by DTK
One of my favorite poems, which I've used often as a sermon illustration, is from the pen of Lord Byron. His poem is based on the biblical accounts of this historical event as found in Isaiah 37, 2 Kings 19, and 2 Chronicles 32.


The Destruction of Sennacherib by Lord Byron

The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold,
And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold;
And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea,
When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.

Like the leaves of the forest when summer is green,
That host with their banners at sunset were seen;
Like the leaves of the forest when autumn hath blown,
That host on the morrow lay wither´d and strown

For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast,
And breathed in the face of the foe as he pass´d;
And the eyes of the sleepers wax´d deadly and chill,
And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still!

And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide,
But through it there roll´d not the breath of his pride;
And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf,
And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf.

And there lay the rider distorted and pale,
With the dew on his brow and the rust on his mail;
And the tents were all silent, the banners alone,
The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown.

And the widows of Asshur are loud in their wail;
And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal;
And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword,
Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord!

DTK

Classic! :up:
 
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