Abou Ben Adhem

Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase!)
Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace,
And saw, within the moonlight of his room,
Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom,
An angel writing in a book of gold:-
Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold,
And to the presence in the room he said,
'What writest thou?' - The vision raised its head,
And with a look made of all sweet accord,
Answered 'The names of those who love the Lord.'
'And is mine one?' said Abou. 'Nay, not so,'
Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low,
But cheerly still; and said 'I pray thee then,
Write me as one that loves his fellow-men.'

The angel wrote, and vanished. The next night
It came again with a great wakening light,
And showed the names who love of God had blessed,
And lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest.

James Henry Leigh Hunt

James Henry Leigh Hunt was an English critic, essayist, and poet, born on October 19, 1784, in Southgate, London. He was a central figure of the Romantic movement and is best known for his poems 'Jenny Kissed Me' and 'Abou Ben Adhem.' Hunt also co-founded the influential literary periodical, 'The Examiner', in 1808. He had a significant impact on his contemporaries, including John Keats and Percy Bysshe Shelley. Hunt passed away on August 28, 1859, in Putney, London.

James Henry Leigh Hunt

An Angel In The House

James Henry Leigh Hunt, Simple Poetry

A Night-Rain in Summer

James Henry Leigh Hunt, Simple Poetry

The Negro Boy

James Henry Leigh Hunt, Simple Poetry

Nun, The

James Henry Leigh Hunt, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

The Two Angels

Two angels, one of Life and one of Death,
    Passed o'er our village as the morning broke;
The dawn was on their faces, and beneath,
    The sombre houses hearsed with plumes of smoke.

Their attitude and aspect were the same,
    Alike their features and their robes of white;
But one was crowned with amaranth, as with flame,
    And one with asphodels, like flakes of light.

I saw them pause on their celestial way;
    Then said I, with deep fear and doubt oppressed,
"Beat not so loud, my heart, lest thou betray
    The place where thy beloved are at rest!"

And he who wore the crown of asphodels,
    Descending, at my door began to knock,
And my soul sank within me, as in wells
    The waters sink before an earthquake's shock.

I recogni...

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The Beloved Disciple

I.

One do I see and twelve; but second there
Methinks I know thee, thou beloved one;
Not from thy nobler port, for there are none
More quiet-featured: some there are who bear
Their message on their brows, while others wear
A look of large commission, nor will shun
The fiery trial, so their work is done;
But thou hast parted with thine eyes in prayer--
Unearthly are they both; and so thy lips
Seem like the porches of the spirit land;
For thou hast laid a mighty treasure by
Unlocked by Him in Nature, and thine eye
Burns with a vision and apocalypse
Thy own sweet soul can hardly understand.

II.

A Boanerges too! Upon my heart
It lay a heavy hour: features like thine
Should glow with other message than the shine
Of the earth-burrowi...

George MacDonald

The Two Rabbins

The Rabbi Nathan two-score years and ten
Walked blameless through the evil world, and then,
Just as the almond blossomed in his hair,
Met a temptation all too strong to bear,
And miserably sinned. So, adding not
Falsehood to guilt, he left his seat, and taught
No more among the elders, but went out
From the great congregation girt about
With sackcloth, and with ashes on his head,
Making his gray locks grayer. Long he prayed,
Smiting his breast; then, as the Book he laid
Open before him for the Bath-Col's choice,
Pausing to hear that Daughter of a Voice,
Behold the royal preacher's words: "A friend
Loveth at all times, yea, unto the end;
And for the evil day thy brother lives."
Marvelling, he said: "It is the Lord who gives
Counsel in need. At Ecbatana dwe...

John Greenleaf Whittier

Acrostic.

Even now I seem to see thee,
Lovely boy, with thy sweet smile,
Bright and beautiful as when
Reading that holy book, the while
I listened to thee, little dreaming,
Docile, gentle, pleasant child,
God who gave, so soon would take thee,
Even thee, so sweet, so mild.
But how merciful in chastening
Our father is - oh! bless his name -
Your little face was decked with smiles,
Dear child, just when the summons came.
Escaped from lingering sickness, thou hadst
Nought to mar thy little frame.
While ye mourn the dear departed,
Each bitter feeling disallow;
Look to heaven, ye broken hearted,
Look, and with submission bow.
In thy hour of deepest sorrow,
Never murmur, dare not blame;
God, who wounds, alone can heal thee;
Trust ...

Mary Ann H. T. Bigelow

To Marie Louise (Shew)

Of all who hail thy presence as the morning,
Of all to whom thine absence is the night,
The blotting utterly from out high heaven
The sacred sun, of all who, weeping, bless thee
Hourly for hope, for life, ah, above all,
For the resurrection of deep buried faith
In truth, in virtue, in humanity,
Of all who, on despair's unhallowed bed
Lying down to die, have suddenly arisen
At thy soft-murmured words, "Let there be light!"
At thy soft-murmured words that were fulfilled
In thy seraphic glancing of thine eyes,
Of all who owe thee most, whose gratitude
Nearest resembles worship,, oh, remember
The truest, the most fervently devoted,
And think that these weak lines are written by him,
By him who, as he pens them, thrills to think
His spirit is communing with an...

Edgar Allan Poe

The Poet Priest

Not as of one whom multitudes admire,
I believe they call him great;
They throng to hear him with a strange desire;
They, silent, come and wait,
And wonder when he opens wide the gate
Of some strange, inner temple, where the fire
Is lit on many altars of many dreams --
They wait to catch the gleams --
And then they say,
In praiseful words: "'Tis beautiful and grand."
And so his way
Is strewn with many flowers, sweet and fair;
                    And people say:
"How happy he must be to win and wear
                    Praise ev'ry day!"
And all the while he stands far out the crowd,
                    Strangely ~alone~.
Is it a Stole he wears? -- or mayhap a shroud --
No matter which, his spirit maketh moan;
And all the while a lo...

Abram Joseph Ryan