John Bunyan

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

John Bunyan Poems

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


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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