love poems

God hath two wings, which He doth ever move,
The one is Mercy, and the next is Love:
Under the first the Sinners ever trust;
And with the last he still directs the Just.

GOD IS LOVE ; his mercy brightens
All the path in which we rove;
Bliss he wakes and woe he lightens;
God is wisdom, God is love.

Chance and change are busy ever;
Man decays, and ages move;
But his mercy waneth never;
God is wisdom, God is love.

E'en the hour that darkest seemeth,
Will his changeless goodness prove;
From the gloom his brightness streameth,
God is wisdom, God is love.

He with earthly cares entwineth
Hope and comfort from above;
Everywhere his glory shineth;

God gives to you another year,
A year of hours and days;
And as you face its unseen tasks
And face its unknown ways,
Lo! every hour some treasure holds,
And every day new joy unfolds.

A fragment of eternity
In which to gain and give;
So many days and weeks and months
To love and laugh and live.
What shall those minted moments buy?
How will you spend them as they fly?

They come all wrapped in silver morns,
That shade to golden noons,
Tied round with strings of jeweled stars,

Go! little bill, and do me recommende
Unto my lady with godely countenaunce.
For, trusty messenger, I thee sende,
Pray her that she make purviaunce:
For my love, thurgh here sufferaunce,
In her bosome desireth to reste,
Sith of all women I love here beste.

She is lilly of redolence,
Which only may do me plesure;
She is the rose of confidence,
Most comforting to my nature.
Unto that lady I me assure:
I will her love and never mo,
Go! little bill, and sey her so.

She resteth in my remembraunce

Go, happy rose, and wreathe my dear friend's brow;
Not only now,
But when his shining locks have turned to grey,
(Though distant be that day!)
So, from this hour,
Be love's own flower.

Give place, ye lovers, here before
That spent your boasts and brags in vain;
My lady's beauty passeth more
The best of yours, I dare well sayen,
Than doth the sun the candle light,
Or brightest day the darkest night.

And thereto hath a troth as just
As had Penelope the fair;
For what she saith, ye may it trust,
As it by writing sealed were:
And virtues hath she many moe
Than I with pen have skill to show.

I could rehearse, if that I would,
The whole effect of Nature's plaint

XLVII

From these high hills as when a spring doth fall
It trilleth down with still and subtle course,
Of this and that it gathers ay and shall
Till it have just off flowed the stream and force,
Then at the foot it rageth over all —
So fareth love when he hath ta'en a source:
His rein is rage; resistance vaileth none;
The first eschew is remedy alone.

The scent of hyacinths, like a pale mist, lies between me and my book;
And the South Wind, washing through the room,
Makes the candles quiver.
My nerves sting at a spatter of rain on the shutter,
And I am uneasy with the thrusting of green shoots
Outside, in the night.
Why are you not here to overpower me with your tense and urgent love?

From Bethlehem to Calvary the Savior's journey lay;
Doubt, unbelief, scorn, fear and hate beset Him day by day,
But in His heart He bore God's love that brightened all the way.

O'er the Judean hills He walked, serene and brave of soul,
Seeking the beaten paths of men, touching and making whole,
Dying at last for love of man, on Calvary's darkened knoll.

He went with patient step and slow, as one who scatters seed;
Like a fierce hunger in His heart He felt the world's great need,
And the negations Moses gave He changed to loving deed.

Lovely ter of lovely eye,
Why dost thou me so wo?
Sorful ter of sorful eye,
Thou brekst myn herte a-two.

Thou sikest sore,
Thy sorwe is more
Than mannes mouth may telle;
Thou singest of sorwe
Mankin to borwe
Out of the pit of helle.

I proud and kene,
Thou meke and clene
Withouten wo or wile;
Thou art ded for me,
And I live through thee —
So blissed be that while! ...

Thyn herte is rent,
Thy body is bent
Upon the roode-tree;
The weder is went,