Anger poems
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Hymn To The Penates
© Robert Southey
Yet one Song more! one high and solemn strain
Ere PAEAN! on thy temple's ruined wall
I hang the silent harp: there may its strings,
When the rude tempest shakes the aged pile,
Song. Murdering Beauty
© Thomas Carew
I'LL gaze no more on her bewitching face,
Since ruin harbours there in every place ;
For my enchanted soul alike she drowns
With calms and tempests of her smiles and frowns.
Be Angry At The Sun
© Robinson Jeffers
That public men publish falsehoods
Is nothing new. That America must accept
Like the historical republics corruption and empire
Has been known for years.
Psalm XXXVI: High in the Heav'ns
© Isaac Watts
High in the heav'ns, eternal God,
Thy goodness in full glory shines;
Thy truth shall break through ev'ry cloud
That veils and darkens thy designs.
Psalm 80
© Isaac Watts
Great Shepherd of thine Israel,
Who didst between the cherubs dwell,
And lead the tribes, thy chosen sheep,
Safe through the desert and the deep;
Psalm 77 part 1
© Isaac Watts
To God I cried with mournful voice,
I sought his gracious ear,
In the sad day when troubles rose,
And filled the night with fear.
Psalm 6
© Isaac Watts
In anger, Lord, rebuke me not;
Withdraw the dreadful storm;
Nor let thy fury grow so hot
Against a feeble worm.
Psalm 45 part 1
© Isaac Watts
Now be my heart inspired to sing
The glories of my Savior King,
Jesus the Lord; how heav'nly fair
His form! how bright his beauties are!
Psalm 30 part 1
© Isaac Watts
I Will extol thee, Lord, on high,
At thy command diseases fly:
Who but a God can speak and save
From the dark borders of the grave?
Psalm 145
© Isaac Watts
My God, my King, thy various praise
Shall fill the remnant of my days;
Thy grace employ my humble tongue
Till death and glory raise the song.
Psalm 103 part 2
© Isaac Watts
v.8-18
L. M.
God's gentle chastisement; or, His tender mercy to his people.
Hymn 166
© Isaac Watts
How shall I praise th' eternal God,
That infinite Unknown?
Who can ascend his high abode,
Or venture near his throne?
Hymn 131
© Isaac Watts
Saints, at your heav'nly Father's word
Give up your comforts to the Lord;
Behold how sinners disagree,
The publican and Pharisee!
One doth his righteousness proclaim,
The other owns his guilt and shame.
His Wife, The Painter
© Charles Bukowski
There are sketches on the walls of men and women and ducks,
and outside a large green bus swerves through traffic like
insanity sprung from a waving line; Turgenev, Turgenev,
says the radio, and Jane Austin, Jane Austin, too.
