John Bunyan

(28 November 1628 – 31 August 1688 / Elstow, Bedfordshire, England.)

John Bunyan Poems

41. Upon A Sheet Of White Paper 1/1/2004
42. Of Moses And His Wife 1/1/2004
43. O Wondrous Dreamer, With Thy Power Divine, 4/20/2010
44. Upon Thebegger 1/1/2004
45. Love Inducin Christian Conduct 1/1/2004
46. Upon The Frog 1/1/2004
47. Of Judgement 1/1/2004
48. The Song Of The Shepherd Boy In The Valley Of Humiliation 4/20/2010
49. Author's Apology For His Book 1/1/2004
50. Of Death 1/1/2004
51. Of Imputed Righteousness 1/1/2004
52. Of The Going Down Of The Sun 1/1/2004
53. Of The Mole In The Ground 1/1/2004
54. Of Child With Bird At The Bush 1/1/2004
55. Upon The Fish In The Water 1/1/2004
56. Meditations Upon An Egg 1/1/2004
57. Introduction To A Pilgrim's Progress 1/1/2004
58. The Spirit Of Prayer 1/1/2004
59. Upon Apparel 1/3/2003
60. Of The Love Of Christ 1/1/2004
61. How Graces Are To Be Obtained 1/1/2004
62. Of Heaven 1/1/2004
63. Meditations Upon A Candle 1/1/2004
64. Who Would True Valour See 1/3/2003
65. Of Hell And The Estate Of Those Who Perish 1/1/2004
66. A Boy And Watchmaker 1/1/2004
67. Of Holiness Of Life 1/1/2004
68. The Sinner And The Spider 1/1/2004
69. Of Man By Nature 1/1/2004
70. Upon A Snail 1/1/2004
71. Upon Time And Eternity 1/3/2003
72. Of Godly Fear 1/1/2004
73. He That Is Down Needs Fear No Fall, 4/20/2010
74. The Shepherd Boy Sings In The Valley Of Humiliation 1/4/2003
75. Of The Boy And Butterfly 1/3/2003

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Best Poem of John Bunyan

Of The Boy And Butterfly

Behold, how eager this our little boy
Is for a butterfly, as if all joy,
All profits, honours, yea, and lasting pleasures,
Were wrapped up in her, or the richest treasures
Found in her would be bundled up together,
When all her all is lighter than a feather.

He halloos, runs, and cries out, 'Here, boys, here!'
Nor doth he brambles or the nettles fear:
He stumbles at the molehills, up he gets,
And runs again, as one bereft of wits;
And all his labour and his large outcry
Is only for a silly butterfly.

Comparison

This little boy an emblem is of...

Read the full of Of The Boy And Butterfly

Of The Cuckoo

Thou booby, say'st thou nothing but cuckoo?
The robin and the wren can thee outdo.
They to us play thoróugh their little throats,
Not one, but sundry pretty tuneful notes.

But thou hast fellows, some like thee can do
Little but suck our eggs, and sing cuckoo.

Thy notes do not first welcome in our spring,

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