Jones Very

(28 August 1813 – 8 May 1880 / Salem, Massachusetts)

Jones Very Poems

41. On Visiting The Graves Of Hawthorne And Thoreau 4/21/2010
42. He Was Acquainted With Grief 4/21/2010
43. The Latter Rain 1/1/2004
44. The Fair Morning 1/1/2004
45. The Acorn 4/21/2010
46. The Slave 4/21/2010
47. To The Fossil Flower 4/21/2010
48. The Ark 4/21/2010
49. In Him We Live 4/21/2010
50. The Canary Bird 4/21/2010
51. Morning 4/21/2010
52. The Clouded Morning 1/1/2004
53. The Eagles 1/1/2004
54. Memory 4/21/2010
55. Lines To A Withered Leaf Seen On A Poet's Table 4/21/2010
56. Worship 4/21/2010
57. Thy Beauty Fades 4/21/2010
58. The Columbine 1/1/2004
59. The Rail Road 4/21/2010
60. How Many Of The Body's Health Complain, 1/1/2004
61. The Song 1/1/2004
62. The New Man 1/1/2004
63. The New Birth 1/1/2004
64. The Violet 4/21/2010
65. Faith 4/21/2010
66. Psyche 1/1/2004
67. He Gave Me No Meat 4/21/2010
68. Day 4/21/2010
69. Ehue! Fugaces, Posthume, Labuntur Anni 4/21/2010
70. Beauty 4/21/2010
71. Love 4/21/2010
72. Soul-Sickness 4/21/2010
73. Change 4/21/2010
74. I Was Sick And In Prison 4/21/2010
75. The Barberry-Bush 4/21/2010
76. The Dead 1/1/2004
77. Bread 4/21/2010
78. Thy Better Self 1/1/2004
79. Nature 1/1/2004
80. Enoch 1/1/2004

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Best Poem of Jones Very

Life

IT is not life upon Thy gifts to live,
But, to grow fixed with deeper roots in Thee;
And when the sun and shower their bounties give,
To send out thick-leaved limbs; a fruitful tree,
Whose green head meets the eye for many a mile,
Whose moss-grown arms their rigid branches rear,
And full-faced fruits their blushing welcome smile
As to its goodly shade our feet draw near;
Who tastes its gifts shall never hunger more,
For 'tis the Father spreads the pure repast,
Who, while we eat, renews the ready store,
Which at his bounteous board must ever last; ...

Read the full of Life

Life

IT is not life upon Thy gifts to live,
But, to grow fixed with deeper roots in Thee;
And when the sun and shower their bounties give,
To send out thick-leaved limbs; a fruitful tree,
Whose green head meets the eye for many a mile,
Whose moss-grown arms their rigid branches rear,
And full-faced fruits their blushing welcome smile
As to its goodly shade our feet draw near;
Who tastes its gifts shall never hunger more,

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