Full Online Books
Authors Authors Short Stories Short Stories Long Stories Long Stories Funny Stories Funny Stories Love Stories Love Stories Stories For Kids Stories For Kids Poems Poems Essays Essays Nonfictions Nonfictions Plays Plays Folktales Folktales Fairy Tales Fairy Tales Fables Fables Learning Kitchen Learning Kitchen
Valid XHTML 1.0 Transitional Free Classified Website Without Registration Free Classified Website Daniel Company
Twitter Twitter Add book
Full Online Book HomePoemsThe Day Of Judgment
Famous Authors (View All Authors)
The Day Of Judgment Post by :mikeg513 Category :Poems Author :Edith Nesbit Date :August 2011 Read :2353

Click below to download : The Day Of Judgment (Format : PDF)

The Day Of Judgment

When the bearing and doing are over,
And no more is to do or bear,
God will see us and judge us
The kind of men we were;
And our sins, so ugly and heavy,
We shall drag them into His sight,
And throw them down at the foot of the throne,
Foul on the steps of light.

We shall not be shamed or frightened,
Though the angels are all at hand,
For He will look at our burden,
And He will understand.
He will turn to the little angels,
Agog to hear and obey,
And point to the festering sin-loads
With, "Take that rubbish away!"

Then the steps will be cleared of the burdens
That we threw down at His feet;
And we shall be washed in the tears of Christ,
And our tears bathe His feet.
And the harvest of all our sinning
That moment's shame will reap -
When we look in the eyes that love us
And know we have made them weep.

(The end)
Edith Nesbit's poem: Day Of Judgment

If you like this book please share to your friends :

In Hospital In Hospital

In Hospital
Under the shadow of a hawthorn brake,Where bluebells draw the sky down to the wood,Where, 'mid brown leaves, the primroses awakeAnd hidden violets smell of solitude;Beneath green leaves bright-fluttered by the wingOf fleeting, beautiful, immortal Spring,I should have said, "I love you," and your eyesHave said, "I, too . . . " The gods saw otherwise.For this is winter, and the London streetsAre full of soldiers from that far, fierce frayWhere life knows death, and where poor glory meetsFull-face with shame, and weeps and turns away.And in the broken, trampled foreign woodIs horror, and the terrible scent of blood,And love

At The Last At The Last

At The Last
Where are you--you whose loving breathAlone can stay my soul from death?The world's so wide, I seek it through,Yet--dare I dream to win to you?Perhaps your dear desired feetPass me in this grey muddy street.Your face, it may be, has its shrineIn that dull house that's next to mine.But I believe, O Life, O Fate,That when I call on Death and waitOne moment at the unclosing gateI shall turn back for one last gazeAlong the trampled, sordid ways,And in the sunset see at last,Just as the barred gate holds me fast,Your face, your face, too late.(The end)Edith Nesbit's poem: At The