Gerard Manley Hopkins

(28 July 1844 – 8 June 1889 / Stratford, Essex)

God's Grandeur - Poem by Gerard Manley Hopkins

The world is charged with the grandeur of God.
It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;
It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil
Crushed. Why do men then now not reck his rod?
Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;
And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;
And wears man's smudge |&| shares man's smell: the soil
Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.

And for all this, nature is never spent;
There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;
And though the last lights off the black West went
Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs --
Because the Holy Ghost over the bent
World broods with warm breast |&| with ah! bright wings.

Comments about God's Grandeur by Gerard Manley Hopkins

  • (8/15/2018 6:40:00 AM)

    This poem by Gerard Manley Hopkins fill my senses with the grandeur of God. The rhythm of the words just pierces the mind and refreshes the soul. (Report) Reply

    0 person liked.
    1 person did not like.
  • (4/6/2018 8:55:00 PM)

    A poem which after nearly 150 years of further degradation of the earth and spirit, still lifts my hopes and encourages me. (Report) Reply

  • (1/22/2018 8:22:00 AM)

    It is so ghatia (Report) Reply

  • (1/6/2018 11:11:00 AM)

    The poem deserves a better reader! Is that a robot? so sad to miss such an opportunity! (Report) Reply

  • Seamus O Brian (12/3/2016 2:02:00 PM)

    The world is charged with the grandeur of God, but man in all of his strivings has wrecked upon nature much destruction, and yet nature is never spent. A wondrous contemplation of God, man and nature. (Report) Reply

  • Novoti Gcisakazi Calpurnia Jiya (4/22/2016 2:16:00 AM)

    this is so great i love it :) (Report) Reply

  • (9/14/2015 11:46:00 AM)

    Ooze of oil, smear, smudge, smell, seared, bleared, brown, brink and all the “freshness” to go with it. I really need freshness in a poem—a preachy Christian pantheist’s view of nature. No wonder why children have never learned to write well. Look at what their English teachers dump on them. (Report) Reply

  • (4/21/2015 6:06:00 PM)

    I love this poem dearly. It expresses an extraordinary vision that I do not think you have to be religious to feel. Where the poem turns at And for all this nature is never spent, there is such joy rising to the beautiful conclusion. (Report) Reply

  • (4/21/2015 5:59:00 PM)

    Breathtaking. Perfection. (Report) Reply

  • Cosheila Bihag (4/3/2015 7:14:00 PM)

    Super like this poem (Report) Reply

  • Panmelys Panmelys (4/3/2015 5:10:00 AM)

    It is greatness at its height. I don't see how traditional Anglo-Saxon sounds of Celtic, (Welsh) in his case: should be interpreted. The Sprung Rhythm is Cynghanedd (Harmonies of consonants) which he bravely uses in the Anglo-
    Saxon idiom so very successfully, so I suppose this is what Frank means. All I know is that it accomplishes all that Frank said, excitemnet, anticipation, reverence, and love for something called Hiraeth in Welsh: translated it means:
    A longing for something this world can never give. Emphasis on 'this' to imply the world elsewhere. Panmelys
    (Report) Reply

  • (10/24/2014 2:44:00 PM)

    Such a splendid example of Hopkins' poetry at his best - with such a tender yet awesome message. Just the first four lines state the message in enduring, endearing terms. Here we see Hopkins' creative experimentation with language and form: his rhymes, including insistent internal rhymes, persistent alliteration and consonance, and what he called his sprung rhythm - a variation on traditional Anglo-Saxon tetrameter with heaped up unaccented syllables, creating a sense of excitement, anticipation, and yet reverence.

    The world is charged with the grandeur of God.
    It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;
    It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil
    Crushed. Why do men then now not reck his rod?
    (Report) Reply

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Read poems about / on: nature, world, god, spring

Poem Submitted: Tuesday, December 31, 2002

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