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

Enoch

I looked to find a man who walked with God,
Like the translated patriarch of old;--
Though gladdened millions on His footstool trod,
Yet none with him did such sweet converse hold;
I heard the wind in low complaint go by
That none his melodies like him could hear;
Day unto day spoke wisdom from on high,
Yet none like David turned a willing ear;
God walked alone unhonored through the earth;

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