Grace

How much, preventing God, how much I owe
To the defences thou hast round me set;
Example, custom, fear, occasion slow,--
These scorned bondmen were my parapet.
I dare not peep over this parapet
To gauge with glance the roaring gulf below,
The depths of sin to which I had descended,
Had not these me against myself defended.

Ralph Waldo Emerson

Ralph Waldo Emerson was an American essayist, lecturer, philosopher, and poet who led the transcendentalist movement of the mid-19th century. Emerson wrote on a number of subjects, never espousing fixed philosophical tenets but developing certain ideas such as individuality, freedom, the ability for humankind to realize almost anything, and the relationship between the soul and the surrounding world. His most famous work includes the essays 'Self-Reliance' and 'Nature.' He was a mentor and friend to Henry David Thoreau.

Ralph Waldo Emerson

The Visit

Ralph Waldo Emerson, Simple Poetry

The Titmouse

Ralph Waldo Emerson, Simple Poetry

Musketaquid

Ralph Waldo Emerson, Simple Poetry

Peter's Field

Ralph Waldo Emerson, 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 Grace Of Grace

    Had I the grace to win the grace
        Of some old man in lore complete,
    My face would worship at his face,
        And I sit lowly at his feet.

    Had I the grace to win the grace
        Of childhood, loving shy, apart,
    The child should find a nearer place,
        And teach me resting on my heart.

    Had I the grace to win the grace
        Of maiden living all above,
    My soul would trample down the base,
        That she might have a man to love.

    A grace I had no grace to win
        Knocks now at my half open door:
    Ah, Lord of glory, come thou in!--
        Thy grace divine is all, and more.

George MacDonald

Suum Cuique

Wilt thou seal up the avenues of ill?
Pay every debt as if God wrote the bill.



If curses be the wage of love,
Hide in thy skies, thou fruitless Jove,
Not to be named:
It is clear
Why the gods will not appear;
They are ashamed.



When wrath and terror changed Jove's regal port,
And the rash-leaping thunderbolt fell short.



Shun passion, fold the hands of thrift,
Sit still and Truth is near:
Suddenly it will uplift
Your eyelids to the sphere:
Wait a little, you shall see
The portraiture of things to be.



The rules to men made evident
By Him who built the day,
The columns of the firmament
Not firmer based than they.



On bravely through the sunshine and the sho...

Ralph Waldo Emerson

The Past

The debt is paid,
The verdict said,
The Furies laid,
The plague is stayed.
All fortunes made;
Turn the key and bolt the door,
Sweet is death forevermore.
Nor haughty hope, nor swart chagrin,
Nor murdering hate, can enter in.
All is now secure and fast;
Not the gods can shake the Past;
Flies-to the adamantine door
Bolted down forevermore.
None can reënter there,--
No thief so politic,
No Satan with a royal trick
Steal in by window, chink, or hole,
To bind or unbind, add what lacked,
Insert a leaf, or forge a name,
New-face or finish what is packed,
Alter or mend eternal Fact.

Ralph Waldo Emerson

Forbearance

Hast thou named all the birds without a gun?
Loved the wood-rose, and left it on its stalk?
At rich men's tables eaten bread and pulse?
Unarmed, faced danger with a heart of trust?
And loved so well a high behavior,
In man or maid, that thou from speech refrained,
Nobility more nobly to repay?
O, be my friend, and teach me to be thine!

Ralph Waldo Emerson

Grace And Providence.

Almighty King! whose wondrous hand
Supports the weight of sea and land,
Whose grace is such a boundless store,
No heart shall break that sighs for more.


Thy providence supplies my food,
And tis thy blessing makes it good;
My soul is nourishd by thy word,
Let soul and body praise the Lord.


My streams of outward comfort came
From him who built this earthly frame;
Whateer I want his bounty gives,
By whom my soul for ever lives.


Either his hand preserves from pain,
Or, if I feel it, heals again;
From Satans malice shields my breast,
Or overrules it for the best.


Forgive the song that falls so low
Beneath the gratitude I owe!
It means thy praise, however poor;
An angels song can do no more.

William Cowper

The Nun's Aspiration

The yesterday doth never smile,
The day goes drudging through the while,
Yet, in the name of Godhead, I
The morrow front, and can defy;
Though I am weak, yet God, when prayed,
Cannot withhold his conquering aid.
Ah me! it was my childhood's thought,
If He should make my web a blot
On life's fair picture of delight,
My heart's content would find it right.
But O, these waves and leaves,--
When happy stoic Nature grieves,
No human speech so beautiful
As their murmurs mine to lull.
On this altar God hath built
I lay my vanity and guilt;
Nor me can Hope or Passion urge
Hearing as now the lofty dirge
Which blasts of Northern mountains hymn,
Nature's funeral high and dim,--
Sable pageantry of clouds,
Mourning summer laid in shrouds.
Many...

Ralph Waldo Emerson