131 Nurturing Poems About Angels

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Here are my favorite poems about angels categorized:

  • Poems about angels among us
  • Poems about angels in heaven
  • Poems about angels and demons
  • Poems about angels and love
  • Poems about angels at christmas
  • Poems about angels and death

So if you want the best poems about angels, then you’re in the right place.

Let’s get started!

131 Best Poems About Angels (Handpicked)
Contents: hide
4 Poems About Angels Among Us

Nurturing Poems About Angels

Embark on a celestial journey through a meticulously curated collection of exquisite poems, celebrating the ethereal presence of angels in our lives.

Encounter the enchanting verses that reveal the angels among us, spreading their wings of compassion and love, alongside the poignant poems that explore the mystique of angels and death, offering solace and reflection.

Delve into this enchanting anthology, where the heavenly realm intertwines with human existence, leaving an indelible imprint of wonder and awe upon your soul.

Let’s go!

My #1 Favorite Poem About Angels

Young beautiful woman fallen sad angel sits on the sea beach. Creative sexy costume, huge artificial bird wings and white vintage dress. Adult girl with sad face of repentance. Artwork photo

“Angels.” by Robert Herrick

Angels are called gods; yet of them, none
Are gods but by participation:
As just men are entitled gods, yet none
Are gods of them but by adoption.

Poems About Angels Among Us

A beautiful white archangel descended from heaven. A girl in a s

“Their Faces” by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

O Beautiful white Angels! who control
The inner workings of each poet soul,
Thou who hast touched my mind with tender graces
Come near to me that I may see thy faces.

Me, didst thou bless before I came to earth;
Me, hast thou kissed, and dowered at my birth,
With such a wealth of sweet imaginings,
That, even in sleep, my dreaming fancy sings.

Sometimes when seeing snow-white clouds at noon,
Or watching silver shadows from the moon,
Within my soul has stirred a joy like fear,
As if some kindred spirit lingered near.

Come closer, Angels! thou whose haloed wings
Do gild for me the meanest ways and things,
With beauty borrowed from the Infinite –
Stand forth, let me behold thee in the light.

O thought supreme! O death! O life! unknown
I shall not solve thy mystery alone.
The angels who have kissed me at my birth
Shall take again my soul when done with earth,
And as we soar through vast, star-lighted spaces,
At last, at last I shall behold their faces.

“Angelus.” by Susan Coolidge (Sarah Chauncey Woolsey)

Softly drops the crimson sun:
Softly down from overhead,
Drop the bell-notes, one by one,
Melting in the melting red;
Sign to angel bands unsleeping,–
“Day is done, the dark is dread,
Take the world in care and keeping.

“Set the white-robed sentries close,
Wrap our want and weariness
In the surety of repose;
Let the shining presences,
Bearing fragrance on their wings,
Stand about our beds to bless,
Fright away all evil things.

“Rays of Him whose shadow pours
Through all lives a brimming glory,
Float o’er darksome woods and moors,
Float above the billows hoary;
Shine, through night and storm and sin,
Tangled fate and bitter story,
Guide the lost and wandering in!”

Now the last red ray is gone;
Now the twilight shadows hie;
Still the bell-notes, one by one,
Send their soft voice to the sky,
Praying, as with human lip,–
“Angels, hasten, night is nigh,
Take us to thy guardianship.”

“The Wish” by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Should some great angel say to me to-morrow,
“Thou must re-tread thy pathway from the start,
But God will grant, in pity, for thy sorrow,
Some one dear wish, the nearest to thy heart.”

This were my wish! from my life’s dim beginning
Let be what has been! wisdom planned the whole;
My want, my woe, my errors, and my sinning,
All, all were needed lessons for my soul.

Beautiful yound woman with giant white angel wings

“The Flower-Angels” by George MacDonald

Of old, with goodwill from the skies–
God’s message to them given–
The angels came, a glad surprise,
And went again to heaven.

But now the angels are grown rare,
Needed no more as then;
Far lowlier messengers can bear
God’s goodwill unto men.

Each year, the snowdrops’ pallid dawn
Breaks from the earth below;
Light spreads, till, from the dark updrawn,
The noontide roses glow.

The snowdrops first–the dawning gray;
Then out the roses burn!
They speak their word, grow dim–away
To holy dust return.

Of oracles were little dearth,
Should heaven continue dumb;
From lowliest corners of the earth
God’s messages will come.

In thy face his we see, O Lord,
And are no longer blind;
Need not so much his rarer word,
In flowers even read his mind.

“In The Cathedral At Cologne” by William Wordsworth

O for the help of Angels to complete
This Temple, Angels governed by a plan
Thus far pursued (how gloriously!) by Man,
Studious that He might not disdain the seat
Who dwells in heaven! But that aspiring heat
Hath failed; and now, ye Powers! whose gorgeous wings
And splendid aspect yon emblazonings
But faintly picture, ’twere an office meet
For you, on these unfinished shafts to try
The midnight virtues of your harmony:
This vast design might tempt you to repeat
Strains that call forth upon empyrean ground
Immortal Fabrics, rising to the sound
Of penetrating harps and voices sweet!

“Sonnets: William Shakespeare” by Algernon Charles Swinburne

Not if men’s tongues and angels’ all in one
Spake, might the word be said that might speak Thee.
Streams, winds, woods, flowers, fields, mountains, yea, the sea,
What power is in them all to praise the sun?
His praise is this, he can be praised of none.
Man, woman, child, praise God for him; but he
Exults not to be worshipped, but to be.
He is; and, being, beholds his work well done.
All joy, all glory, all sorrow, all strength, all mirth,
Are his: without him, day were night on earth.
Time knows not his from time’s own period.
All lutes, all harps, all viols, all flutes, all lyres,
Fall dumb before him ere one string suspires.
All stars are angels; but the sun is God.

Young beautiful woman fallen angel stands on sea beach enjoy nature. costume bird white wings.

“To My Guardian Angel.” by Frances Anne Kemble (Fanny)

Merciful spirit! who thy bright throne above
Hast left, to wander through this dismal earth
With me, poor child of sin! – Angel of love!
Whose guardian wings hung o’er me from my birth,
And who still walk’st unwearied by my side,
How oft, oh thou compassionate! must thou mourn
Over the wayward deeds, the thoughts of pride,
That thy pure eyes behold! Yet not aside
From thy sad task dost thou in anger turn;
But patiently, thou hast but gazed and sighed,
And followed still, striving with the divine
Powers of thy soul for mastery over mine;
And though all line of human hope be past,
Still fondly watching, hoping, to the last.

“The Angel Of The Jasmine Wreath” by Ethel Allen Murphy

Ineffable angel, with the jasmine wreathed,
Wherefrom the sweetness over brow and lips,
And luminous white eyelids tremulously slips,
A visible essence from thy beauty breathed,–
The pure and pensive marvel of thy face is sheathed
In tresses softer than the bloom of night,
Wherefrom the dampness on thy forehead drips
With dews from out God’s meadows infinite,–
Thy face, itself, a lily filled with light:–
Thyself the youngest of God’s angels and most fair,
Bearing His latest breath and blessing on thine hair,
Thou comest fresh from looking on thy Lord;
And all is well, and all is filled for thee
With eloquent, mute wonder of His Word.
Oh, lean a little forth thy lips to me,
For I am fain of peace amid this earthly strife,
And I would drink, a spent soul, thirstily,
From out thy never-failing cup of life.

“The Watching Angel.” by Victor-Marie Hugo

In the dusky nook,
Near the altar laid,
Sleeps the child in shadow
Of his mother’s bed:
Softly he reposes,
And his lid of roses,
Closed to earth, uncloses
On the heaven o’erhead.

Many a dream is with him,
Fresh from fairyland,
Spangled o’er with diamonds
Seems the ocean sand;
Suns are flaming there,
Troops of ladies fair
Souls of infants bear
In each charming hand.

Oh, enchanting vision!
Lo, a rill upsprings,
And from out its bosom
Comes a voice that sings
Lovelier there appear
Sire and sisters dear,
While his mother near
Plumes her new-born wings.

But a brighter vision
Yet his eyes behold;
Roses pied and lilies
Every path enfold;
Lakes delicious sleeping,
Silver fishes leaping,
Through the wavelets creeping
Up to reeds of gold.

Slumber on, sweet infant,
Slumber peacefully
Thy young soul yet knows not
What thy lot may be.
Like dead weeds that sweep
O’er the dol’rous deep,
Thou art borne in sleep.
What is all to thee?

Thou canst slumber by the way;
Thou hast learnt to borrow
Naught from study, naught from care;
The cold hand of sorrow
On thy brow unwrinkled yet,
Where young truth and candor sit,
Ne’er with rugged nail hath writ
That sad word, “To-morrow!”

Innocent! thou sleepest –
See the angelic band,
Who foreknow the trials
That for man are planned;
Seeing him unarmed,
Unfearing, unalarmed,
With their tears have warmed
This unconscious hand.

Still they, hovering o’er him,
Kiss him where he lies,
Hark, he sees them weeping,
“Gabriel!” he cries;
“Hush!” the angel says,
On his lip he lays
One finger, one displays
His native skies.

A beautiful white archangel descended from heaven. A girl in a s

“The Angel” by William Blake

I dreamt a dream! What can it mean?
And that I was a maiden Queen
Guarded by an Angel mild:
Witless woe was ne’er beguiled!

And I wept both night and day,
And he wiped my tears away;
And I wept both day and night,
And hid from him my heart’s delight.

So he took his wings, and fled;
Then the morn blushed rosy red.
I dried my tears, and armed my fears
With ten-thousand shields and spears.

Soon my Angel came again;
I was armed, he came in vain;
For the time of youth was fled,
And grey hairs were on my head.

“The Angel and the Clown” by Vachel Lindsay

I saw wild domes and bowers
And smoking incense towers
And mad exotic flowers
In Illinois.
Where ragged ditches ran
Now springs of Heaven began
Celestial drink for man
In Illinois.

There stood beside the town
Beneath its incense-crown
An angel and a clown
In Illinois.
He was as Clowns are:
She was snow and star
With eyes that looked afar
In Illinois.

I asked, “How came this place
Of antique Asian grace
Amid our callow race
In Illinois?”
Said Clown and Angel fair:
“By laughter and by prayer,
By casting off all care
In Illinois.”

“The Man To The Angel” by George William Russell

I have wept a million tears:
Pure and proud one, where are thine,
What the gain though all thy years
In unbroken beauty shine?

All your beauty cannot win
Truth we learn in pain and sighs:
You can never enter in
To the circle of the wise.

They are but the slaves of light
Who have never known the gloom,
And between the dark and bright
Willed in freedom their own doom.

Think not in your pureness there,
That our pain but follows sin:
There are fires for those who dare
Seek the throne of might to win.

Pure one, from your pride refrain:
Dark and lost amid the strife
I am myriad years of pain
Nearer to the fount of life.

When defiance fierce is thrown
At the God to whom you bow,
Rest the lips of the Unknown
Tenderest upon my brow.

Young beautiful woman fallen sad angel sits on the sea beach. Cr

“The Heights” by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

I cried, ‘Dear Angel, lead me to the heights,
And spur me to the top.’
The Angel answered, ‘Stop
And set thy house in order; make it fair
For absent ones who may be speeding there.
Then will we talk of heights.’

I put my house in order. ‘Now lead on!’
The Angel said, ‘Not yet;
Thy garden is beset
By thorns and tares; go weed it, so all those
Who come to gaze may find the unvexed rose;
Then will we journey on.’

I weeded well my garden. ‘All is done.’
The Angel shook his head.
‘A beggar stands,’ he said,
‘Outside thy gates; till thou hast given heed
And soothed his sorrow, and supplied his need,
Say not that all is done.’

The beggar left me singing. ‘Now at last –
At last the path is clear.’
‘Nay, there is one draws near
Who seeks, like thee, the difficult highway.
He lacks thy courage; cheer him through the day
Then will we cry, “At last!”‘

I helped my weaker brother. ‘Now the heights;
Oh, Guide me, Angel, guide!’
The Presence at my side,
With radiant face, said, ‘Look, where are we now?’
And lo! we stood upon the mountain’s brow –
The heights, the shining heights!

“An Angel In The House” by James Henry Leigh Hunt

How sweet it were, if without feeble fright,
Or dying of the dreadful beauteous sight,
An angel came to us, and we could bear
To see him issue from the silent air
At evening in our room, and bend on ours
His divine eyes, and bring us from his bowers
News of dear friends, and children who have never
Been dead indeed,’as we shall know forever.
Alas! we think not what we daily see
About our hearths,’angels that are to be,
Or may be if they will, and we prepare
Their souls and ours to meet in happy air;’
A child, a friend, a wife whose soft heart sings
In unison with ours, breeding its future wings.

“Playmates.” by Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

God permits industrious angels
Afternoons to play.
I met one, — forgot my school-mates,
All, for him, straightway.

God calls home the angels promptly
At the setting sun;
I missed mine. How dreary marbles,
After playing Crown!

Fallen black angel with wings in magic forest outdoots. Sexual woman

“The Apparition” by Duncan Campbell Scott

Gentle angel with your mantle,
All of tender green,
I was yearning for a vision
Of the life unseen.

When you hovered in the sunset,
Just as rain was done;
Where the dropping from the poplars
Seemed like rain begun.

There you gathered forming slowly
Rounding into view:
All your vesture glowed like verdure
When the sap is new.

Then you mutely gave your warning
And I felt the stress
Of its passion and its presage
And its utterness.

There you swayed one tranquil moment,
Mystically fair,
Then you were not of the sunset,
Were not in the air.

“Song Of The Saints And Angels” by George MacDonald

Gordon, the self-refusing,
Gordon, the lover of God,
Gordon, the good part choosing,
Welcome along the road!

Thou knowest the man, O Father!
To do thy will he ran;
Men’s praises he did not gather:
There is scarce such another man!

Thy black sheep’s faithful shepherd
Who knew not how to flee,
Is torn by the desert leopard,
And comes wounded home to thee!

Home he is coming the faster
That the way he could not miss:
In thy arms, oh take him, Master,
And heal him with a kiss!

Then give him a thousand cities
To rule till their evils cease,
And their wailing minor ditties
Die in a psalm of peace.

“Madrigale III.” by Francesco Petrarca (Petrarch)


From heaven an angel upon radiant wings,
New lighted on that shore so fresh and fair,
To which, so doom’d, my faithful footstep clings:
Alone and friendless, when she found me there,
Of gold and silk a finely-woven net,
Where lay my path, ‘mid seeming flowers she set:
Thus was I caught, and, for such sweet light shone
From out her eyes, I soon forgot to moan.

Portrait of a romantic girl, like a forest fairy, in a blooming garden with elements of phantasmagoria. The concept of fantasy, fairy tales.

“Woman” by Edward Smyth Jones

I call thee angel of this earth,
For angel true thou art
In noble deeds and sterling worth
And sympathetic heart.
I, therefore, seek none from afar
For what they might have been,
But sing the praise of those which are
That dwell on earth with men.

For when man was a tottling wee,
Snug nestling on thy breast,
Or sporting gay upon thy knee,
Oh, thou who lovest him best;
An overflowing stream of love,
Sprung at his very birth,
And made thee gentle as a dove,
Fair angel of this earth.

Thou cheerest ever blithesome youth
With songs and fervent prayers,
And fillest heart with love and truth
A store for future cares.
Thou lead’st him safely in his prime,
True guide of every stage,
And then at last, as fades the time,
Thou comfortest his age.

Like as the sunshine after rain,
Far chasing ‘way the mist,
Thou soothest human grief and pain,
Fleet messenger of bliss.
In battles where the sword and shield
Full lay the mighty low,
Thou hov’rest ever o’er the field,
To ease life’s ebb and flow!

Thou standest, ever standest near,
Before man’s waning eyes,
An angel true to him more dear
Than all beyond the skies!
No fabled sprites of chants and creeds,
Nor myths of bygone years,
For thou suppliest all his needs
And wip’st his briny tears.

So, if he quail in desert waste
Or toss life’s stormy sea,
He turns his tear-stained eye in haste
For one fond glimpse of thee.
He longs to hide beneath thy wing,
And nestle on thy breast;
He lists to hear thee softly sing
Him into peaceful rest!

Oh, sing aloud Mt. Zion’s songs,
To cheer each languid heart;
For now some feeble spirit longs
Thy blessings to impart.
And thus thou keepest the Master’s will,
And showest all thy worth,
Through loving kindness thou art still
The angel of this earth!

“Translations. – Another Christ-Song.” by George MacDonald

From heaven the angel-troop come near
And to the shepherds plain appear:
A tender little child, they cry,
In a rough manger lies hard by,

In Bethlehem, David’s town of old,
As Prophet Micah has foretold;
‘Tis the Lord Jesus Christ, I wis,
Who of you all the saviour is.

And ye may well break out in mirth
That God is one with you henceforth;
For he is born your flesh and blood–
Your brother is the eternal Good.

He will nor can from you go hence;
Put you in him your confidence.
However many you assail,
Defy them–He can never fail!

What can death do to you, or sin?
The true God is to you come in.
Let hell and Satan raging go–
The Son of God’s your comrade now!

At last you must approval win,
For you are now become God’s kin:
For this go thanking God alway,
Happy and patient every day. Amen.

“The Bridge Between Clifton And Leigh Woods” by William Lisle Bowles

Frown ever opposite, the angel cried,
Who, with an earthquake’s might and giant hand,
Severed these riven rocks, and bade them stand
Severed for ever! The vast ocean-tide,
Leaving its roar without at his command,
Shrank, and beneath the woods through the green land
Went gently murmuring on, so to deride
The frowning barriers that its force defied!
But Art, high o’er the trailing smoke below
Of sea-bound steamer, on yon summit’s head
Sat musing; and where scarce a wandering crow
Sailed o’er the chasm, in thought a highway led;
Conquering, as by an arrow from a bow,
The scene’s lone Genius by her elfin-thread.

Angel with black wings

“Angel” by Duncan Campbell Scott

Come to me when grief is over,
When the tired eyes,
Seek thy cloudy wings to cover
Close their burning skies.

Come to me when tears have dwindled
Into drops of dew,
When the sighs like sobs re-kindled
Are but deep and few.

Hold me like a crooning mother,
Heal me of the smart;
All mine anguish let me smother
In thy brooding heart.

“Green Angellights” by Paul Cameron Brown

Green angel lights
stream from the willow tree,
in direct symmetrical bearing
three birds are drawn to it.

In gold, soft patches
of light overreach
the earth,
shadows trace ridges
to surround each teak blown colour.

With fakir lowliness,
the throb of water
takes petals from
the sun,
shimmers its passing breath
to a euphony sobbing
in movement.

“Love” by Nancy Rebecca Campbell Glass

For by grace are ye saved through faith; and that not of yourselves; it is the gift of God. Ephesians 2:8.

Christ might have called the angels down
To bear him safe above,
To shield his brow from sorrow’s crown,
From death’s cold blight, and bitter frown,
Had it not been for love.

Our glorious King, our Prince of Peace,
Has left his throne above
To give our souls from sin release,
To make our pain and anguish cease,
And all because of love.

By faith in him, we all may see
In realms of light above,
Through streams of blood on Calvary,
A joyful immortality;
The purchase price was love.

Beautiful angel on snowy mountain

“Angels” by George MacDonald

Came of old to houses lonely
Men with wings, but did not show them:
Angels come to our house, only,
For their wings, they do not know them!

“A Botticelli Madonna I: The Wondering Angels” by Ethel Allen Murphy

Behold! the Tabernacle of God’s Will
This woman’s form enshrineth. What is this,
More glorious than all our age-long bliss,
Which shines within the shadow of her sill?
How shall we lift this strangeness which doth fill
Her human heart to breaking,–we who miss
In our immortal joy, the enlight’ning kiss
Of sorrow’s bitter lips whence comforts thrill?
How shall we sing to her of joys to come,
To her who bears upon her breast the sum
Of death’s dread gloom and heaven’s undying light?
Lean close, ah, close, about her from above,–
Behold upon the mildness of her love
Enthroned the terrors of His Holy Might!

“The Four Angels” by Rudyard Kipling

As Adam lay a-dreaming beneath the Apple Tree
The Angel of the Earth came down, and offered Earth in fee;
But Adam did not need it,
Nor the plough he would not speed it,
Singing: “Earth and Water, Air and Fire,
What more can mortal man desire?”
(The Apple Tree’s in bud)

As Adam lay a-dreaming beneath the Apple Tree
The Angel of the Waters offered all the Seas in fee;
But Adam would not take ’em,
Nor the ships he wouldn’t make ’em,
Singing: “Water, Earth and Air and Fire,
What more can mortal man desire? “
(The Apple Tree’s in leaf.)

As Adam lay a-dreaming beneath the Apple Tree
The Angel of the Air he offered all the Air in fee;
But Adam did not crave it,
Nor the flight he wouldn’t brave it,
Singing: “Air and Water, Earth and Fire,
What more can mortal man desire?”
(The Apple Tree’s in bloom.)

As Adam lay a-dreaming beneath the Apple Tree
The Angel of the Fire rose up and not a word said he;
But he wished a flame and made it,
And in Adam’s heart he laid it,
Singing: “Fire, Fire, burning Fire!
Stand up, and reach your heart’s desire!”
(The Apple Blossom’s set.)

As Adam was a-working outside of Eden-Wall,
He used the Earth, he used the Seas, he used the Air and all;
Till out of black disaster
He arose to be a master
Of Earth and Water, Air and Fire,
But never reached his heart’s desire!
(The Apple Tree’s cut down!)

Dark fallen angel lying on the ground.

“The Angels Of Sleep” by Bjørnstjerne Martinius Bjørnson

Asleep the child fell
When night cast its spell;
The angels came near
With laughter and cheer.
Her watch at its waking the mother was keeping:
“How sweet, my dear child, was your smile now while sleeping!”

To God mother went,
From home it was rent;
Asleep the child fell
‘Neath tears’ troublous spell.
But soon it heard laughter and mother-words tender;
The angels brought dreams full of childhood’s rare splendor.

It grew with the years,
Till gone were the tears;
Asleep the child fell,
While thoughts cast their spell.
But faithful the angels their vigils were keeping,
The thoughts took and whispered: “Have peace now, while sleeping!”

“A Hymn Of Peace” by Oliver Wendell Holmes

Angel of Peace, thou hast wandered too long!
Spread thy white wings to the sunshine of love!
Come while our voices are blended in song, –
Fly to our ark like the storm-beaten dove!
Fly to our ark on the wings of the dove, –
Speed o’er the far-sounding billows of song,
Crowned with thine olive-leaf garland of love, –
Angel of Peace, thou hast waited too long!

Joyous we meet, on this altar of thine
Mingling the gifts we have gathered for thee,
Sweet with the odors of myrtle and pine,
Breeze of the prairie and breath of the sea, –
Meadow and mountain and forest and sea!
Sweet is the fragrance of myrtle and pine,
Sweeter the incense we offer to thee,
Brothers once more round this altar of thine!

Angels of Bethlehem, answer the strain!
Hark! a new birth-song is filling the sky! –
Loud as the storm-wind that tumbles the main
Bid the full breath of the organ reply, –
Let the loud tempest of voices reply, –
Roll its long surge like the-earth-shaking main!
Swell the vast song till it mounts to the sky!
Angels of Bethlehem, echo the strain!

“The Angel Of Thought” by Ethel Allen Murphy

Angel of Thought, meseems God winged thee so,
And crowned thine head with passion fine as flame,
And made thy lifted face too pure for shame,
With eyes and brow a mirror to His glow;–
And gave thy lips a golden trump, that, though
Long years have passed since other angels came
To work the mighty wonders of His name,–
In God’s own name and man’s, thyself shalt go
Forever on strong pinions to and fro,
And round the earth reverberating blow
The mute, world-shaking music of the mind;
That thou might’st make as naught all space and time,
And thrill in mystic oneness through mankind,
Yet dwell in each, inviolate, sublime.

sexy blonde woman in black leather jacket and shorts with white angel wings. demon or angel in hell or heaven. sunset near lake

“Angels In The Early Morning” by Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

Angels in the early morning
May be seen the dews among,
Stooping, plucking, smiling, flying:
Do the buds to them belong?

Angels when the sun is hottest
May be seen the sands among,
Stooping, plucking, sighing, flying;
Parched the flowers they bear along.

“Angel Of Charity.” (Air–Handel) by Thomas Moore

Angel of Charity, who, from above,
Comest to dwell a pilgrim here,
Thy voice is music, thy smile is love,
And Pity’s soul is in thy tear.
When on the shrine of God were laid
First-fruits of all most good and fair,
That ever bloomed in Eden’s shade,
Thine was the holiest offering there.

Hope and her sister, Faith, were given
But as our guides to yonder sky;
Soon as they reach the verge of heaven,
There, lost in perfect bliss, they die.
But, long as Love, Almighty Love,
Shall on his throne of thrones abide,
Thou, Charity, shalt dwell above,
Smiling for ever by His side!

“Doubt Heralding Vision.” by George MacDonald

An angel saw me sitting by a brook,
Pleased with the silence, and the melodies
Of wind and water which did fall and rise:
He gently stirred his plumes and from them shook
An outworn doubt, which fell on me and took
The shape of darkness, hiding all the skies,
Blinding the sun, but giving to my eyes
An inextinguishable wish to look;
When, lo! thick as the buds of spring there came,
Crowd upon crowd, informing all the sky,
A host of splendours watching silently,
With lustrous eyes that wept as if in blame,
And waving hands that crossed in lines of flame,
And signalled things I hope to hold although I die!

Young beautiful fantasy woman fallen angel lying in air near a tree with orange leaves. Creative red costume, huge artificial bird wings and elegant dress. magic autumn foliage. Photo of levitation.

“The Angel of Patience” by John Greenleaf Whittier

To weary hearts, to mourning homes,
God’s meekest Angel gently comes:
No power has he to banish pain,
Or give us back our lost again;
And yet in tenderest love, our dear
And Heavenly Father sends him here.
There ’s quiet in that Angel’s glance,
There ’s rest in his still countenance!
He mocks no grief with idle cheer,
Nor wounds with words the mourner’s ear;
But ills and woes he may not cure
He kindly trains us to endure.
Angel of Patience! sent to calm
Our feverish brows with cooling palm;
To lay the storms of hope and fear,
And reconcile life’s smile and tear;
The throbs of wounded pride to still,
And make our own our Father’s will!
O thou who mournest on thy way,
With longings for the close of day;
He walks with thee, that Angel kind,
And gently whispers, “Be resigned:
Bear up, bear on, the end shall tell
The dear Lord ordereth all things well!”

“Peace.” by Rose Hawthorne Lathrop

An angel spoke with me, and lo, he hoarded
My falling tears to cheer a flower’s face!
For, so it seems, in all the heavenly space
A wasted grief was never yet recorded.
Victorious calm those holy tones afforded
Unto my soul, whose outcry, in disgrace,
Changed to low music, leading to the place
Where, though well armed, with futile end awarded,
My past lay dead. “Wars are of earth!” he cried;
“Endurance only breathes immortal air.
Courage eternal, by a world defied,
Still wears the front of patience, smooth and fair.”
Are wars so futile, and is courage peace?
Take, then, my soul, thus gently thy release!

“The Angels of the Seven Planets Bearing the Star of Bethlehem” by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow


THE ANGELS of the Planets Seven,
Across the shining fields of heaven
The natal star we bring!
Dropping our sevenfold virtues down
As priceless jewels in the crown
Of Christ, our new-born King.

I am the Angel of the Sun,
Whose flaming wheels began to run
When God’s almighty breath
Said to the darkness and the Night,
Let there be light! and there was light
I bring the gift of Faith.

I am the Angel of the Moon,
Darkened to be rekindled soon
Beneath the azure cope!
Nearest to earth, it is my ray
That best illumes the midnight way;
I bring the gift of Hope!

The Angel of the Star of Love,
The Evening Star, that shines above
The place where lovers be,
Above all happy hearths and homes,
On roofs of thatch, or golden domes,
I give him Charity!

The Planet Jupiter is mine!
The mightiest star of all that shine,
Except the sun alone!
He is the High Priest of the Dove,
And sends, from his great throne above,
Justice, that shall atone!

The Planet Mercury, whose place
Is nearest to the sun in space,
Is my allotted sphere!
And with celestial ardor swift
I bear upon my hands the gift
Of heavenly Prudence here!

I am the Minister of Mars,
The strongest star among the stars!
My songs of power prelude
The march and battle of man’s life,
And for the suffering and the strife,
I give him Fortitude!

The Angel of the uttermost
Of all the shining, heavenly host,
From the far-off expanse
Of the Saturnian, endless space
I bring the last, the crowning grace,
The gift of Temperance!

A sudden light shines from the windows of the stable in the village below.

black fallen angel with a red plumage walking on the dark backgr

“The Guardian Angel” by Robert Browning

Dear and great Angel, wouldst thou only leave
That child, when thou hast done with him, for me!
Let me sit all the day here, that when eve
Shall find performed thy special ministry,
And time come for departure, thou, suspending
Thy flight, may’st see another child for tending,
Another still to quiet and retrieve.

Then I shall feel thee step one step, no more,
From where thou standest now, to where I gaze.
—And suddenly my head is covered o’er
With those wings, white above the child who prays
Now on that tomb—and I shall feel thee guarding
Me, out of all the world; for me discarding
Yon heaven thy home, that waits and opes its door.

I would not look up thither past thy head
Because the door opes, like that child, I know,
For I should have thy gracious face instead,
Thou bird of God! And wilt thou bend me low
Like him, and lay, like his, my hands together,
And lift them up to pray, and gently tether
Me, as thy lamb there, with thy garment’s spread?

If this was ever granted, I would rest
My head beneath thine, while thy healing hands
Close-covered both my eyes beside thy breast,
Pressing the brain, which too much thought expands,
Back to its proper size again, and smoothing
Distortion down till every nerve had soothing,
And all lay quiet, happy and suppressed.

How soon all worldly wrong would be repaired!
I think how I should view the earth and skies
And sea, when once again my brow was bared
After thy healing, with such different eyes.
O world, as God has made it! All is beauty:
And knowing this is love, and love is duty.
What further may be sought for or declared?

“The Angels, for the Nativitie of Our Lord” by William Drummond of Hawthornden

Run, shepherds, run where Bethlem blest appears;
We bring the best of news, be not dismay’d,
A Saviour there is born, more old than years,
Amidst the rolling heaven this earth who stay’d:
In a poor cottage inn’d, a virgin maid,
A weakling did him bear who all upbears;
There he in clothes is wrapped, in manger laid,
To whom too narrow swaddlings are our spheres.
Run, shepherds, run, and solemnise his birth;
This is that night, no day, grown great with bliss,
In which the power of Satan broken is;
In heaven be glory; peace unto the earth.
Thus singing through the air the angels swam,
And all the stars re-echoed the same.

“Mary seeth Two Angels sitting” by Walter Chalmers Smith

Angels twain were sitting
In the vacant tomb;
Lights of day were flitting
Through its silent gloom;
Angels brightly shining,
Light of common day,
Mingling and entwining
Where the Saviour lay.
Often in our sorrow
Angels may be seen,
When we look to-morrow
Where our griefs had been;
And the angels holy
Whisper us and say,
Lo! the Meek and Lowly
Plucked the sting away.
Sweet is all the bitter,
Blessed is the night,
When the angels glitter
In the morning light,
To the common duty
Bidding us away,
For Jesus in His beauty
Will meet us by the way.

Beautiful innocent woman angel sitting on a cloud. Costume with huge white wings. Dark night background, sky, space, shining stars. Fantasy girl goddess watching the universe from space. Lace dress

“The Angel of Life” by Richard Rowe

Life’s Angel watched a happy child at play,
Wreathing the riches of the blushing May:
His eye was cloudless as the heavens above,
But there was pity in her look of love.
The flowers he gathered bloomed their brief bright hour,
Then rained their petals in a silent shower:
The boy looked up at her with strange surprise,
And sadder grew the pity in her eyes.

“The Apple-Tree” by Nancy Campbell

I saw the archangels in my apple-tree last night,
I saw them like great birds in the starlight—
Purple and burning blue, crimson and shining white.
And each to each they tossed an apple to and fro,
And once I heard their laughter gay and low;
And yet I felt no wonder that it should be so.
But when the apple came one time to Michael’s lap
I heard him say: “The mysteries that enwrap
The earth and fill the heavens can be read here, mayhap.”
Then Gabriel spoke: “I praise the deed, the hidden thing.”
“The beauty of the blossom of the spring
I praise,” cried Raphael. Uriel: “The wise leaves I sing.”
And Michael: “I will praise the fruit, perfected, round,
Full of the love of God, herein being bound
His mercies gathered from the sun and rain and ground.”
So sang they till a small wind through the branches stirred,
And spoke of coming dawn; and at its word
Each fled away to heaven, winged like a bird.

“The Three Woes” by Aubrey de Vere

That angel whose charge was Eiré sang thus, o’er the dark Isle winging;
By a virgin his song was heard at a tempest’s ruinous close:
“Three golden ages God gave while your tender green blade was springing;
Faith’s earliest harvest is reaped. To-day God sends you three woes.
“For ages three without laws ye shall flee as beasts in the forest;
For an age and a half age faith shall bring, not peace, but a sword;
Then laws shall rend you, like eagles sharp-fanged, of your scourges the sorest;
When these three woes are past, look up, for your hope is restored.
“The times of your woes shall be twice the time of your foregone glory;
But fourfold at last shall lie the grain on your granary floor.”
The seas in vapour shall flee, and in ashes the mountains hoary;
Let God do that which He wills. Let his servants endure and adore!”

beautiful girl with angel wings is sitting front of the hay on t

“The Angel of Truth” by Leopold Stein

Once th’ omnipotent Maker of world without end
Bade the hosts of His angels in council attend;
And thus in His wisdom supernal He spake:
“In the confines of earth in our image we’ll make
Man, whose spirit divine shall from Heav’n proclaim him,
Yet as human we Adam, the earth-born, will name him.”
Then the band of bright beings, in potent dissent,
Into two hostile factions asunder were rent.
“Create him, I pray,” cried the Angel of Love,
“He will strive to resemble Thy nature above;
I behold his employment—his labours how blest,
He ’mid hunger and sickness will aid the distressed;
With a tear in his eye, and compassion at heart,
He will freely sweet solace where need is impart.
Create man, I pray,” cried the Angel of Love,
“He will strive to resemble Thy spirit above.”
But the Angel of Faithfulness thereupon rose,
The creation of man might and main to oppose;
“He will break the most sacred of compacts, I weet,
And the words that he utters be fraught with deceit;
Nought but falsehood will issue from man’s teeming brain,
Whilst hypocrisy ever forms part of his train.”
Quoth the Angel of Faithfulness; “God, in Thy plan
Of creation include not a being like man.”
Then the Angel of Justice cried: “Heaven! create him,
Love of Law and promotion of concord await him;
I behold him fence in the possession of right,
And all barbarous violence putting to flight;
With firmly fixed laws states and cities he’ll bind,
Whilst with order cementing the bonds of mankind.
Let man be created, then,” Justice implored,
“By whom harmony jarred shall at last be restored.”
“O do not make man!” cried the Angel of Peace,
“For ere long, ’neath his sway law and order shall cease;
States and cities laid waste will attest where he’s been,
With his sword steeped in blood of his brother, I ween:
Dread war and destruction will follow his path,
And the world be o’erspread with dire carnage and wrath.
Great spirit of Life! engender him not,
Who from records of earth law and order will blot.”
Thus in hopeless divergence, in Heaven’s bright bowers,
The spirits angelic were spending their powers,
Till the Angel of Truth, in God’s glory effulgent,
Thus was summoned to plead in a tone more indulgent.
“Truth! lead by thy light to the bliss of salvation,
Free from errors and prejudice man’s aberration,
That each neighbour beside him a brother may seem,
God above him the Father of all he shall deem,
Tho’ for thousands of years his pure mind be o’ercast,
With thine aid it shall shine all unclouded at last,
Truth shall still of the claims of strict justice remind him,
Till persistently seeking blest peace she shall find him,
Then Truth, Justice, and Peace shall, in process of time,
Loud proclaim upon earth Heaven’s kingdom sublime.”
So man was created—though earth clogged his soul—
May have wandered full oft from its heavenly goal—
To make known the One Father, who wills that mankind
Be by Faith and by Truth, Peace and Justice combined,
Until God shall be King on that glorious day,
And His sovereign Law all His creatures obey.

“Prayer” by Pierre-Jules-Théophile Gautier

As a guardian angel, take me under your wing;
Deign to stoop and put out, smiling,
Your maternal hand to my little hand
To support my steps and keep me from falling!
For Jesus the sweet Master, with celestial love,
Suffered little children to come to him;
As an indulgent parent, he submitted to their caresses
And played with them without showing weariness.
O you who resemble those church pictures
Where one sees, on a gold background, august Charity
Preserving from hunger, preserving from cold,
A fair and smiling group sheltered in her folds;
Like the nursling of the Divine mother,
For pity’s sake, lift me to your lap;
Protect me, poor young girl, alone, an orphan,
Whose only hope is in God, whose only hope is in you!

“While Loveliness Goes By” by Anna Hempstead Branch

Sometimes when all the world seems gray and dun
And nothing beautiful, a voice will cry,
“Look out, look out! Angels are drawing nigh!”
Then my slow burdens leave me, one by one,
And swiftly does my heart arise and run
Even like a child, while loveliness goes by—
And common folk seem children of the sky,
And common things seem shapèd of the sun.
Oh, pitiful! that I who love them, must
So soon perceive their shining garments fade!
And slowly, slowly, from my eyes of trust
Their flaming banners sink into a shade!
While this earth’s sunshine seems the golden dust
Slow settling from that radiant cavalcade.

Beautiful brunette woman with white wings

“Angels, from the realms of glory” by James Montgomery

Angels, from the realms of glory,
Wing your flight o’er all the earth;
Ye who sang creation’s story
Now proclaim Messiah’s birth;
Come and worship;
Worship Christ, the new-born King.
Shepherds, in the fields abiding,
Watching o’er your flocks by night,
God with man is now residing,
Yonder shines the infant-light;
Come and worship;
Worship Christ, the new-born King.
Sages, leave your contemplations,
Brighter visions beam afar;
Seek the great Desire of Nations;
Ye have seen His natal-star;
Come and worship;
Worship Christ, the new-born King.
Saints, before the altar bending,
Watching long in hope and fear,
Suddenly, the Lord descending,
In His temple shall appear;
Come and worship;
Worship Christ, the new-born King.
Sinners, wrung with true repentance,
Doomed, for guilt, to endless pains,
Justice now revokes the sentence,
Mercy calls you—break your chains;
Come and worship;
Worship Christ, the new-born King.

“The Angel” by Dorothy S. Silverman

I dreamt I saw an angel in the sky,
Her face was calm and fair up there on high;
She smiled at me—a strange and lovely smile
That had in it no thought of earthly guile.
She looked so fair, so strange and wondrous pure,
That ’twas an angel, I was passing sure;
She spoke—her voice was music in the air;
So sweet it was, it matched her person fair.
She asked me, “Is there aught that I can do?”
I humbly answered, “Make me fair as you.”
She smiled again, that strange unearthly smile,
That made all mundane things seem crude and vile—
“Thou art not ready yet,” she seemed to say
And with a sigh, she floated far away.

“Dawn-Angels” by A. Mary F. Robinson-Darmesteter

All night I watched awake for morning,
At last the East grew all aflame,
The birds for welcome sang, or warning,
And with their singing morning came.
Along the gold-green heavens drifted
Pale wandering souls that shun the light,
Whose cloudy pinions torn and rifted,
Had beat the bars of Heaven all night.
These clustered round the moon, but higher
A troop of shining spirits went,
Who were not made of wind or fire,
But some divine dream-element.
Some held the Light, while those remaining
Shook out their harvest-coloured wings,
A faint unusual music raining,
(Whose sound was Light) on earthly things.
They sang, and as a mighty river
Their voices washed the night away,
From East to West ran one white shiver,
And waxen strong their song was Day.

Pretty angel leaning against the tree

“An Angel Unawares” by Cicely Fox-Smith

Ye gave me of your broken meat
And of your lees o’ wine,
That I should sit and sing for you
All at your banquet fine.
Ye gave me shelter from the storm
And straw to make my bed,
And let me sleep through the wild night
With cattle in the shed.
Ye know not from what lordly feast
Hither I come this night,
Nor to what lodging with the stars
From hence I take my flight.
But there’s such wine that warms my blood
As yet you never knew,
So that I heed not wet nor cold,
Nor rags the winds blow through.
If I might sing the song I heard
Ere I came to your door,
Ye should set down the brimming cup
Nor heed the banquet more.
Ye may not hear the songs I hear,
Nor share that feast o’ mine,
To whom ye gave your broken meat
And of your lees o’ wine.

“Angelic Visitants” by Charles Mackay

On Mamre’s plain, beside the Patriarch’s door,
The ministering angels sat; the world was young,
And men beheld what they behold no more;—
Ah, no! The harps of Heaven are not unstrung!
The angelic visitants may yet appear
To those who seek them! Lo! at Virtue’s side,
Its friend, its prop, its solace, and its guide,
Walks FAITH, with upturned eyes and voice of cheer,
A visible angel. Lo! at Sorrow’s call,
HOPE hastens down, an angel fair and kind,
And whispers comfort whatsoe’er befall;
While CHARITY, the seraph of the mind,
White-robed and pure, becomes each good man’s guest,
And makes this Earth a Heaven to all who love her best.

“Spirits” by Robert Bridges

Angel spirits of sleep,
White-robed, with silver hair,
In your meadows fair,
Where the willows weep,
And the sad moonbeam
On the gliding stream
Writes her scatter’d dream:

Angel spirits of sleep,
Dancing to the weir
In the hollow roar
Of its waters deep;
Know ye how men say
That ye haunt no more
Isle and grassy shore
With your moonlit play;
That ye dance not here,
White-robed spirits of sleep,
All the summer night
Threading dances light?

Girl with a beautiful face is to smoke.

“Wonder” by Thomas Traherne

How like an Angel came I down!
How bright are all things here!
When first among His works I did appear
O how their glory me did crown!
The world resembled His Eternity,
In which my soul did walk;
And every thing that I did see
Did with me talk.
The skies in their magnificence,
The lively, lovely air,
Oh how divine, how soft, how sweet, how fair!
The stars did entertain my sense,
And all the works of God, so bright and pure,
So rich and great did seem,
As if they ever must endure
In my esteem.
A native health and innocence
Within my bones did grow,
And while my God did all his Glories show,
I felt a vigour in my sense
That was all Spirit. I within did flow
With seas of life, like wine;
I nothing in the world did know
But ’twas divine.
Harsh ragged objects were concealed,
Oppressions, tears and cries,
Sins, griefs, complaints, dissensions, weeping eyes
Were hid, and only things revealed
Which heavenly Spirits and the Angels prize.
The state of Innocence
And bliss, not trades and poverties,
Did fill my sense.
The streets were paved with golden stones,
The boys and girls were mine,
Oh how did all their lovely faces shine!
The sons of men were holy ones,
In joy and beauty they appeared to me,
And every thing which here I found,
While like an Angel I did see,
Adorned the ground.
Rich diamond and pearl and gold
In every place was seen;
Rare splendours, yellow, blue, red, white and green,
Mine eyes did everywhere behold.
Great wonders clothed with glory did appear,
Amazement was my bliss,
That and my wealth was everywhere;
No joy to this!
Cursed and devised proprieties,
With envy, avarice
And fraud, those fiends that spoil even Paradise,
Flew from the splendour of mine eyes,
And so did hedges, ditches, limits, bounds,
I dreamed not aught of those,
But wandered over all men’s grounds,
And found repose.
Proprieties themselves were mine,
And hedges ornaments;
Walls, boxes, coffers, and their rich contents
Did not divide my joys, but all combine.
Clothes, ribbons, jewels, laces, I esteemed
My joys by others worn:
For me they all to wear them seemed
When I was born.

“Hymns For The Sick: The Ministration of Angels” by John Mason Neale

They slumber not, nor sleep,
Whom Thou dost send, O God of light,
Around Thine Own the livelong night
Their watch and ward to keep:
They leave their seats on high,
They leave the Everlasting Hymn,
Where Cherubim and Seraphim
Continually do cry:
They come to guard the bed
Whereon, while others wake and weep,
Thou givest Thy belovèd sleep,
And hover round their head.
Nor less they haste to soothe
Their Vigils, who, like me, distrest,
Nor wake to strength, nor sleep to rest,
And make the rough ways smooth.
So peradventure now,
My eyes, if loos’d from flesh, might see
Such an immortal Company,
As ne’er to Monarch bow;
And this familiar room
Might seem the Gate of Paradise;
And in its sorrow joy might rise,
And glory in its gloom.
Thy Holy Name be blest,
God in Three Persons, both by those
That after toil in Thee repose,
And those by grief opprest!

“Engelberg, The Hill Of Angels” by William Wordsworth

For gentlest uses, oft-times Nature takes
The work of Fancy from her willing hands;
And such a beautiful creation makes
As renders needless spells and magic wands,
And for the boldest tale belief commands.
When first mine eyes beheld that famous Hill,
The sacred Engelberg, celestial Bands,
With intermingling motions soft and still,
Hung round its top, on wings that changed their hues at will.

Clouds do not name those Visitants; they were
The very Angels whose authentic lays,
Sung from that heavenly ground in middle air,
Made known the spot where piety should raise
A holy Structure to the Almighty’s praise.
Resplendent Apparition! if in vain
My ears did listen, ’twas enough to gaze;
And watch the slow departure of the train,
Whose skirts the glowing Mountain thirsted to detain.

Young beautiful woman fallen angel stands on the sea beach enjoy nature. A costume huge artificial bird white wings. Silhouettes of a mysterious red-haired girl at sunset. Bright sunlight of sunset

“Angels holy” by John Stuart Blackie

Angels holy,
High and lowly,
Sing the praises of the Lord!
Earth and sky, all living nature,
Man, the stamp of thy Creator,
Praise ye, praise ye, God the Lord!
Sun and moon bright,
Night and noonlight,
Starry temples azure-floored,
Cloud and rain, and wild wind’s madness,
Suns of God that shout for gladness,
Praise ye, praise ye, God the Lord!
Ocean hoary,
Tell His glory,
Cliffs where tumbling seas have roared!
Pulse of waters blithely beating,
Wave advancing, wave retreating,
Praise ye, praise ye, God the Lord!
Rock and high land,
Wood and island,
Crag where eagle’s pride hath soared,
Mighty mountains purple-breasted,
Peaks cloud-heaving, snowy-crested,
Praise ye, praise ye, God the Lord!
Rolling river,
Praise Him ever,
From the mountain’s deep vein poured;
Silver fountain clearly gushing,
Troubled torrent madly rushing,
Praise ye, praise ye, God the Lord!
Bond and free man
Land and sea man,
Earth with peoples widely stored,
Woodman lone o’er prairies ample,
Full-voiced choir in costly temple,
Praise ye, praise ye, God the Lord!
Praise Him ever,
Bounteous Giver!
Praise Him Father, Friend, and Lord!
Each glad soul its free course winging,
Each blithe voice its free song singing,
Praise the great and mighty Lord!

“The Angel’s Whisper” by Samuel Lover

A baby was sleeping;
Its mother was weeping;
For her husband was far on the wild raging sea;
And the tempest was swelling
Round the fisherman’s dwelling;
And she cried, “Dermot, darling! O come back to me!”
Her beads while she numbered
The baby still slumbered,
And smiled in her face as she bended her knee:
“O, blessed be that warning,
My child, thy sleep adorning,—
For I know that the angels are whispering with thee.
“And while they are keeping
Bright watch o’er thy sleeping,
O, pray to them softly, my baby, with me,—
And say thou wouldst rather
They ’d watch o’er thy father!
For I know that the angels are whispering with thee.”
The dawn of the morning
Saw Dermot returning,
And the wife wept with joy her babe’s father to see;
And closely caressing
Her child with a blessing,
Said, “I knew that the angels were whispering with thee.”

“The Angels’ Song” by Edmund Hamilton Sears

It came upon the midnight clear,
That glorious song of old,
From angels bending near the earth
To touch their harps of gold:
“Peace to the earth, good-will to men
From heaven’s all-gracious King!”
The world in solemn stillness lay
To hear the angels sing.
Still through the cloven skies they come,
With peaceful wings unfurled;
And still their heavenly music floats
O’er all the weary world:
Above its sad and lowly plains
They bend on heavenly wing,
And ever o’er its Babel sounds
The blessèd angels sing.
Yet with the woes of sin and strife
The world has suffered long;
Beneath the angel-strain have rolled
Two thousand years of wrong;
And man, at war with man, hears not
The love-song which they bring:
O, hush the noise, ye men of strife,
And hear the angels sing!
And ye, beneath life’s crushing load
Whose forms are bending low;
Who toil along the climbing way
With painful steps and slow,—
Look now! for glad and golden hours
Come swiftly on the wing;
O, rest beside the weary road,
And hear the angels sing.
For lo! the days are hastening on,
By prophet-bards foretold,
When with the ever-circling years
Comes round the age of gold;
When Peace shall over all the earth
Its ancient splendors fling,
And the whole world send back the song
Which now the angels sing.

Beautiful young woman or girl in red dress and white wings on the sand on sunny day with blue sky. Angel model or dancer posing in photo shoot on dunes

“At the round earth’s imagined corners (Holy Sonnet 7)” by John Donne

At the round earth’s imagined corners, blow
Your trumpets, angels, and arise, arise
From death, you numberless infinities
Of souls, and to your scattered bodies go,
All whom the flood did, and fire shall, o’erthrow,
All whom war, dearth, age, agues, tyrannies,
Despair, law, chance, hath slain, and you whose eyes,
Shall behold God, and never taste death’s woe.
But let them sleep, Lord, and me mourn a space;
For, if above all these, my sins abound,
‘Tis late to ask abundance of thy grace,
When we are there. Here on this lowly ground,
Teach me how to repent; for that’s as good
As if thou’hadst seal’d my pardon with thy blood.

“Holy Innocents” by Christina Rossetti

Sleep, little Baby, sleep;
The holy Angels love thee,
And guard thy bed, and keep
A blessed watch above thee.
No spirit can come near
Nor evil beast to harm thee:
Sleep, Sweet, devoid of fear
Where nothing need alarm thee.

The Love which doth not sleep,
The eternal Arms surround thee:
The Shepherd of the sheep
In perfect love hath found thee.
Sleep through the holy night,
Christ-kept from snare and sorrow,
Until thou wake to light
And love and warmth to-morrow.

“A Baby Song” by Elizabeth Drew Stoddard

Come, white angels, to baby and me;
Touch his blue eyes with the image of sleep,
In his surprise he will cease to weep;
Hush, child, the angels are coming to thee!

Come, white doves, to baby and me;
Softly whirr in the silent air,
Flutter about his golden hair:
Hark, child, the doves are cooing to thee!

Come, white lilies, to baby and me;
Drowsily nod before his eyes,
So full of wonder, so round and wise:
Hist, child, the lily-bells tinkle for thee!

Come, white moon, to baby and me;
Gently glide o’er the ocean of sleep,
Silver the waves of its shadowy deep:
Sleep, child, and the whitest of dreams to thee.

Black Angel. Pretty girl-demon with black wings. An image for Ha

“The Destroying Angel” by Abraham Cowley

He stopped at last
And a mild look of sacred pity cast
Down on the sinful land where he was sent
To inflict the tardy punishment.
“Ah! yet,” said he, “Yet, stubborn king, repent,
Whilst thus armed I stand
Ere the keen sword of God fill my commanded hand.
Suffer but thyself and thine to live
Who would alas! believe
That it for man,” said he
“So hard to be forgiven should be,
And yet for God so easy to forgive!”
Through Egypt’s wicked land his march he took,
And as he marched, the sacred first-born strook
Of every womb; none did he spare,
None, from the meanest beast to Pharaoh’s purple heir.
Whilst health and strength and gladness doth possess
The festal Hebrew cottages;
The blest destroyer comes not there
To interrupt the sacred cheer:
Upon their doors he read and understood.
God’s protection writ in blood;
Well was he skilled in the character divine,
And though he passed by it in haste,
He bowed and worshipped as he passed
The mighty mystery through its humble sign.

Poems About Angels in Heaven

Girl with white wings on a rock by the sea

“The Angel Song” by John Keble

‘And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host, praising God.’—LUKE II. 13.

What sudden blaze of song
Spreads o’er th’ expanse of heav’n?
In waves of light it thrills along,
Th’ angelic signal given—
“Glory to God!” from yonder central fire
Flows out the echoing lay beyond the starry quire;
Like circles widening round
Upon a clear blue river,
Orb after orb, the wondrous sound
Is echoed on for ever:
“Glory to God on high, on earth be peace,
And love towards men of love—salvation and release.”
Yet stay, before thou dare
To join that festal throng;
Listen and mark what gentle air
First stirr’d the tide of song;
’Tis not, “the Saviour born in David’s home,
To whom for power and health obedient worlds should come:”—
’Tis not, “the Christ the Lord:”—
With fix’d adoring look
The choir of Angels caught the word,
Nor yet their silence broke:
But when they heard the sign, where Christ should be,
In sudden light they shone and heavenly harmony.
Wrapp’d in His swaddling bands,
And in His manger laid,
The hope and glory of all lands
Is come to the world’s aid:
No peaceful home upon His cradle smil’d,
Guests rudely went and came, where slept the royal Child.
But where Thou dwellest, Lord,
No other thought should be.
Once duly welcom’d and ador’d,
How should I part with Thee?
Bethlehem must lose Thee soon, but Thou wilt grace
The single heart to be Thy sure abiding-place.
Thee, on the bosom laid
Of a pure virgin mind,
In quiet ever, and in shade,
Shepherd and sage may find;
They, who have bow’d untaught to Nature’s sway,
And they, who follow Truth along her star-paved way.
The pastoral spirits first
Approach Thee, Babe divine,
For they in lowly thoughts are nurs’d,
Meet for Thy lowly shrine:
Sooner than they should miss where Thou dost dwell,
Angels from Heaven will stoop to guide them to Thy cell.
Still, as the day comes round
For Thee to be revealed,
By wakeful shepherds Thou art found,
Abiding in the field.
All through the wintry heaven and chill night air,
In music and in light Thou dawnest on their prayer.
Oh faint not ye for fear—
What though your wandering sheep,
Reckless of what they see and hear,
Lie lost in wilful sleep?
High Heaven in mercy to your sad annoy
Still greets you with glad tidings of immortal joy.
Think on th’ eternal home
The Saviour left for you;
Think on the Lord most holy, come
To dwell with hearts untrue:
So shall ye tread untir’d His pastoral ways,
And in the darkness sing your carol of high praise.

“The Two Angels” by John Greenleaf Whittier

God called the nearest angels who dwell with Him above:
The tenderest one was Pity, the dearest one was Love.

“Arise,” He said, “my angels! a wail of woe and sin
Steals through the gates of heaven, and saddens all within.

“My harps take up the mournful strain that from a lost world swells,
The smoke of torment clouds the light and blights the asphodels.

“Fly downward to that under world, and on its souls of pain,
Let Love drop smiles like sunshine, and Pity tears like rain!”

Two faces bowed before the Throne, veiled in their golden hair;
Four white wings lessened swiftly down the dark abyss of air.

The way was strange, the flight was long; at last the angels came
Where swung the lost and nether world, red-wrapped in rayless flame.

There Pity, shuddering, wept; but Love, with faith too strong for fear,
Took heart from God’s almightiness and smiled a smile of cheer.

And lo! that tear of Pity quenched the flame whereon it fell,
And, with the sunshine of that smile, hope entered into hell!

Two unveiled faces full of joy looked upward to the Throne,
Four white wings folded at the feet of Him who sat thereon!

And deeper than the sound of seas, more soft than falling flake,
Amidst the hush of wing and song the Voice Eternal spake:

“Welcome, my angels! ye have brought a holier joy to heaven;
Henceforth its sweetest song shall be the song of sin forgiven!

“The Daisy” by Virna Sheard

An angel found a daisy where it lay
On Heaven’s highroad of transparent gold,
And, turning to one near, he said, “I pray,
Tell me what manner of strange bloom I hold.
You came a long, long way – perchance you know
In what far country such fair flowers blow?”

Then spoke the other: “Turn thy radiant face
And gaze with me down purple depth of space.
See, where the stars lie spilled upon the night,
Like amber beads that hold a yellow light.
Note one that burns with faint yet steady glow;
It is the Earth – and there these blossoms grow.
Some little child from that dear, distant land
Hath borne this hither in his dimpled hand.”

Still gazed he down. “Ah, friend,” he said, “I, too,
Oft crossed the fields at home where daisies grew.”

big angel wings

“The Angels at the Sepulchre” by Thomas Toke Lynch

The glory of God from the way of the East
Shines into the sepulchre, slumber has ceased;
The stone, like a cloud, has moved lightly away,
And on it there sits a strong angel of day.
Seize and bind him, ye soldiers,—he sits on the stone:
Not before him a bar, but beneath him a throne;
Bedazzled and smit with his terrible light,
They tremble, they fly, and they fall in their flight.
O, ring, bells of heaven; ye throngs of the blest,
Again hallelujahs may swell from your breast;
Let surges of music, like summer seas bright,
Re-ëcho and roll through the heavenly height.
They hated and sent Him in darkness to dwell
Beneath the great mountains and billows of hell;
But He lighted the caverns of ancient despair,
And with a new chain bound the fiend in his lair.
He’s at liberty set who so sorely was bruised;
He triumphs to-day whom the people refused:
Of all that have loved Him he’ll comfort the soul,
Now his own wounded heart is for ever made whole.
And, O, ye kind angels, who grieved for your song,
Sing anew, for the right has prevailed o’er the wrong;
The best of good-will shines through hatred and pain
And glory and peace have arisen to reign.

“Epilogue: The Two Recording Angels Ascending” by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

THE ANGEL OF GOOD DEEDS, with closed book.

God sent his messenger the rain,
And said unto the mountain brook,
“Rise up, and from thy caverns look
And leap, with naked, snow-white feet,
From the cool hills into the heat
Of the broad, arid plain.”
God sent his messenger of faith,
And whispered in the maiden’s heart,
“Rise up, and look from where thou art,
And scatter with unselfish hands
Thy freshness on the barren sands
And solitudes of Death.”
O beauty of holiness,
Of self-forgetfulness, of lowliness!
O power of meekness,
Whose very gentleness and weakness
Are like the yielding, but irresistible air!
Upon the pages
Of the sealed volume that I bear,
The deed divine
Is written in characters of gold,
That never shall grow old,
But through all ages
Burn and shine,
With soft effulgence!
O God! it is thy indulgence
That fills the world with the bliss
Of a good deed like this!

THE ANGEL OF EVIL DEEDS, with open book.

Not yet, not yet
Is the red sun wholly set,
But evermore recedes,
While open still I bear
The Book of Evil Deeds,
To let the breathings of the upper air
Visit its pages and erase
The records from its face!
Fainter and fainter as I gaze
In the broad blaze
The glimmering landscape shines,
And below me the black river
Is hidden by wreaths of vapor!
Fainter and fainter the black lines
Begin to quiver
Along the whitening surface of the paper;
Shade after shade
The terrible words grow faint and fade,
And in their place
Runs a white space!
Down goes the sun!
But the soul of one,
Who by repentance
Hath escaped the dreadful sentence,
Shines bright below me as I look.
It is the end!
With closèd Book
To God do I ascend.
Lo! over the mountain steeps
A dark, gigantic shadow sweeps
Beneath my feet;
A blackness inwardly brightening
With sullen heat,
As a storm-cloud lurid with lightning.
And a cry of lamentation,
Repeated and again repeated,
Deep and loud
As the reverberation
Of cloud answering unto cloud,
Swells and rolls away in the distance,
As if the sheeted
Lightning retreated,
Baffled and thwarted by the wind’s resistance.
It is Lucifer,
The son of mystery;
And since God suffers him to be,
He, too, is God’s minister,
And labors for some good
By us not understood!

“Saints And Angels.” by Christina Georgina Rossetti

It’s oh in Paradise that I fain would be,
Away from earth and weariness and all beside;
Earth is too full of loss with its dividing sea,
But Paradise upbuilds the bower for the bride.

Where flowers are yet in bud while the boughs are green,
I would get quit of earth and get robed for heaven;
Putting on my raiment white within the screen,
Putting on my crown of gold whose gems are seven

Fair is the fourfold river that maketh no moan,
Fair are the trees fruit-bearing of the wood,
Fair are the gold and bdellium and the onyx stone,
And I know the gold of that land is good.

O my love, my dove, lift up your eyes
Toward the eastern gate like an opening rose;
You and I who parted will meet in Paradise,
Pass within and sing when the gates unclose.

This life is but the passage of a day,
This life is but a pang and all is over;
But in the life to come which fades not away
Every love shall abide and every lover.

He who wore out pleasure and mastered all lore,
Solomon, wrote “Vanity of vanities:”
Down to death, of all that went before
In his mighty long life, the record is this.

With loves by the hundred, wealth beyond measure,
Is this he who wrote “Vanity of vanities”?
Yea, “Vanity of vanities” he saith of pleasure,
And of all he learned set his seal to this.

Yet we love and faint not, for our love is one,
And we hope and flag not, for our hope is sure,
Although there be nothing new beneath the sun
And no help for life and for death no cure.

The road to death is life, the gate of life is death,
We who wake shall sleep, we shall wax who wane;
Let us not vex our souls for stoppage of a breath,
The fall of a river that turneth not again.

Be the road short, and be the gate near, –
Shall a short road tire, a strait gate appall?
The loves that meet in Paradise shall cast out fear,
And Paradise hath room for you and me and all.

Beautiful girl white angel with angel wings

“The Angel” by Mikhail Lermontov

Through the heavens of midnight an angel was sped
Who lifted his chant as he fled.
The moon and the clouds and the stars leaned to hear
The song rising holy and clear.
He sang of the spirits, the sinless, the blest,
Who softly in Paradise rest.
Of the gardens of God, and of God was his song,
Ringing true as a heavenly gong.
He bore a young soul to the dark gates of birth,
Toward the travailing, sorrowful earth.
And flying, he sang, and the eager soul heard
The deathless, the unuttered Word.
And the years in the world could but sadden and tire
The soul filled with wondrous desire.
And vainly the dull songs of earth would have stilled
The song wherewith heaven had thrilled.

“The Ministry of Angels” by Edmund Spenser

And is there care in heaven? And is there love
In heavenly spirits to these creatures base,
That may compassion of their evils move?
There is: else much more wretched were the case
Of men than beasts. But oh, th’ exceeding grace
Of highest God that loves His creatures so,
And all His works with mercy doth embrace,
That blessed angels He sends to and fro,
To serve to wicked men, to serve His wicked foe.

How oft do they their silver bowers leave
To come to succour us that succour want!
How oft do they with golden pinions cleave
The flitting skies, like flying pursuivant,
Against foul fiends to aid us militant!
They for us fight, they watch and duly ward,
And their bright squadrons round about us plant;
And all for love, and nothing for reward.
O why should heavenly God to men have such regard?

“Angels and Children” by John Keble

Heaven in the depth and height is seen,
On high among the stars, and low
In deep, clear waters; all between
Is earth and tastes of earth: even so
The Almighty One draws near
To strongest seraphs there, to weakest infants here.

And both are robed in white, and both
On evil look unharmed, and wear
A ray so pure, ill powers are loth
To linger in the keen bright air.
As angels wait in joy
On saints, so on the old the duteous-hearted boy.

God’s angels keep the eternal round
Of praise on high, and never tire;
His lambs are in His temple found
Early, with all their heart’s desire.
They boast not to be free,
They grudge not to their Lord meek ear and bended knee.

O well and wisely wrought of old,
Nor without guide, be sure, who first
Did cherub forms as infants mould,
And lift them where the full deep burst
Of awful harmony
Might need them most, to waft it onward to the sky.

Beautiful feminime woman with white wings with white spring flowers.

“There Shall Be More Joy…” by Ford Madox Hueffer

The little angels of Heaven
Each wear a long white dress,
And in the tall arcadings
Play ball and play at chess;
With never a soil on their garments,
Not a sigh the whole day long,
Not a bitter note in their pleasure,
Not a bitter note in their song.
But they shall know keener pleasure,
And they shall know joy more rare—
Keener, keener pleasure
When you, my dear, come there.
The little angels of Heaven
Each wear a long white gown,
And they lean over the ramparts
Waiting and looking down.

“Fiat Lux” by Lloyd Mifflin

Then that dread angel near the awful throne,
Leaving the seraphs ranged in flaming tiers,
Winged his dark way through those unpinioned spheres,
And on the void’s black beetling edge, alone,
Stood with raised wings, and listened for the tone
Of God’s command to reach his eager ears,
While Chaos wavered, for she felt her years
Unsceptered now in that convulsive zone.
Night trembled. And as one hath oft beheld
A lamp within a vase light up its gloom,
So God’s voice lighted him, from heel to plume:
“Let there be light!” It said, and Darkness, quelled,
Shrunk noiseless backward in her monstrous womb
Through vasts unwinnowed by the wings of eld!

“The Blessed Birthday LXXXVII.” by Charles Fitzgeffrey

Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will towards men.

Why should not we with joy resound and sing
The blessed natals of our heavenly King?
Why should not we with mirth salute the morn
Of his birth-day by whom we are new born?
See how each creature in his kind rejoyces,
And shall not we lift up melodious voices?
Hark how the angels sing!—shall we be sad?
The greatest good is ours—be we most glad.
Hark how the star-enamel’d heavens rebound
With echos of angelick anthems’ sound!
It is for us that they those joyes expresse;
And shall not we shew forth some thankfulnesse?
Joyn we in consort these sweet quires among,
In sundry voices sing we all one song,
Glory to God on high, on earth be peace,
And let good-will towards Christians never cease.

Art photo of a Angelic beautiful woman. A girl with angel wings and a white dress near blood-red trees.

From “Paradise Lost, Book V” by John Milton

The seraph Abdiel, faithful found
Among the faithless, faithful only he;
Among innumerable false, unmoved,
Unshaken, unseduced, unterrified,
His loyalty he kept, his love, his zeal;
Nor number, nor example with him wrought
To swerve from truth, or change his constant mind,
Though single. From amidst them forth he passed,
Long way through hostile scorn, which he sustained
Superior, nor of violence fearèd aught;
And with retorted scorn his back he turned
On those proud towers to swift destruction doomed.

“Chorus Of Angels.” by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Christ is arisen!

Mortal, all hail!
Thou, of Earth’s prison

Dreary and frail,
Bursting the veil,

Proudly hast risen!


Rich spices and myrrh,

To embalm Him we brought;
His corpse to inter

His true followers sought.
In pure cerements shrin’d,

‘Twas placed in the bier
But, alas! we now find

That Christ is not here.


Christ is arisen!

Speechless His love.
Who to Earth’s prison

Came from above,
Trials to prove.

Now is He risen!


Death’s gloomy portal

Now hath He rended,
Living, immortal,

Heavenward ascended;
Freed from His anguish,

Sees He God’s throne;
We still must languish,

Earthbound, alone.
Now that He’s reft us,

Heart-sad we pine;
Why hast Thou left us,

Master divine?


Christ is arisen,

Death hath He slain;

Burst ye your prison,

Rend ye each chain!

Songs of praise lead ye,

Love to show, heed ye,

Hungry ones feed ye,

Preaching, on speed ye,

Coming joys plead ye,
Then is the Master near,
Then is He here!

“The Organ Angels” by Frances Shaw

They gather the winds that they may sound
His greater glory through the vaulted sky;
They make soft melodies to flow together
Before God, a mighty stream.

Beautiful brunette woman with white wings

“Sun” by Henry Rowe

Angel, king of streaming morn;
Cherub, call’d by Heav’n to shine;
T’ orient tread the waste forlorn;
Guide ætherial, pow’r divine;
Thou, Lord of all within!

Golden spirit, lamp of day,
Host, that dips in blood the plain,
Bids the crimson’d mead be gay,
Bids the green blood burst the vein;
Thou, Lord of all within!

Soul, that wraps the globe in light;
Spirit, beckoning to arise;
Drives the frowning brow of night,
Glory bursting o’er the skies;
Thou, Lord of all within!

“To My Mother” by Edgar Allan Poe

Because I feel that, in the Heavens above,
The angels, whispering to one another,
Can find, among their burning terms of love,
None so devotional as that of “Mother,”
Therefore by that dear name I long have called you—
You who are more than mother unto me,
And fill my heart of hearts, where Death installed you
In setting my Virginia’s spirit free.
My mother—my own mother, who died early,
Was but the mother of myself; but you
Are mother to the one I loved so dearly,
And thus are dearer than the mother I knew
By that infinity with which my wife
Was dearer to my soul than its soul-life.

Poems About Angels and Demons

black angel in the forest

“The Two Songs” by William Blake

I heard an Angel Singing
When the day was springing:
“Mercy, pity, and peace,
Are the world’s release.”

So he sang all day
Over the new-mown hay,
Till the sun went down,
And the haycocks looked brown.

I heard a devil curse
Over the heath and the furse:
“Mercy vould be no more
If there were nobody poor,
And pity no more could be
If all were happy as ye:
And mutual fear brings peace,
Misery’s increase
Are mercy, pity, and peace.”

At his curse the sun went down,
And the heavens gave a frown.

“Angel Or Demon.” by Victor-Marie Hugo

[I. vii.]

Angel or demon! thou, – whether of light
The minister, or darkness – still dost sway
This age of ours; thine eagle’s soaring flight
Bears us, all breathless, after it away.
The eye that from thy presence fain would stray,
Shuns thee in vain; thy mighty shadow thrown
Rests on all pictures of the living day,
And on the threshold of our time alone,
Dazzling, yet sombre, stands thy form, Napoleon!

Thus, when the admiring stranger’s steps explore
The subject-lands that ‘neath Vesuvius be,
Whether he wind along the enchanting shore
To Portici from fair Parthenope,
Or, lingering long in dreamy reverie,
O’er loveliest Ischia’s od’rous isle he stray,
Wooed by whose breath the soft and am’rous sea
Seems like some languishing sultana’s lay,
A voice for very sweets that scarce can win its way.

Him, whether Paestum’s solemn fane detain,
Shrouding his soul with meditation’s power;
Or at Pozzuoli, to the sprightly strain
Of tarantella danced ‘neath Tuscan tower,
Listening, he while away the evening hour;
Or wake the echoes, mournful, lone and deep,
Of that sad city, in its dreaming bower
By the volcano seized, where mansions keep
The likeness which they wore at that last fatal sleep;

Or be his bark at Posillippo laid,
While as the swarthy boatman at his side
Chants Tasso’s lays to Virgil’s pleased shade,
Ever he sees, throughout that circuit wide,
From shaded nook or sunny lawn espied,
From rocky headland viewed, or flow’ry shore,
From sea, and spreading mead alike descried,
The Giant Mount, tow’ring all objects o’er,
And black’ning with its breath th’ horizon evermore!

“Fragment: Satan Broken Loose.” by Percy Bysshe Shelley

A golden-winged Angel stood
Before the Eternal Judgement-seat:
His looks were wild, and Devils’ blood
Stained his dainty hands and feet.
The Father and the Son
Knew that strife was now begun.
They knew that Satan had broken his chain,
And with millions of daemons in his train,
Was ranging over the world again.
Before the Angel had told his tale,
A sweet and a creeping sound
Like the rushing of wings was heard around;
And suddenly the lamps grew pale –
The lamps, before the Archangels seven,
That burn continually in Heaven.

Black Angel. Pretty girl-demon with black wings. An image for Ha

“She of the Dancing Feet Sings” by Countee Cullen

And what would I do in heaven, pray,
Me with my dancing feet,
And limbs like apple boughs that sway
When the gusty rain winds beat?

And how would I thrive in a perfect place
Where dancing would be sin,
With not a man to love my face,
Nor an arm to hold me in?

The seraphs and the cherubim
Would be too proud to bend
To sing the feary tunes that brim
My heart from end to end.

The wistful angels down in hell
Will smile to see my face,
And understand, because they fell
From that all-perfect place.

“Evil” by Marie E. J. Pitt

Not Beelzebub, but white archangel, I
Turn the dim glass and shift the sands again,
And touch the eyelids of the sons of men
Lest they forget—forget and drowsy lie
In Fate’s unfurrowed fallow till they die—
As seed that quickens not for dawns that leap
From out the dark of immemorial years,
With kiss of wind and sun and wizard tears
Of fugitive clouds to wake them from their sleep.
With milestones I have set the crumbling sod
Of human judgement that they stray not wide,
Nor languish lost in labyrinths alway;
And smile in pity when I hear them pray
That Wrong’s rude whips from them be turned aside,
Who call me Evil—not discerning God.

Poems About Angels and Love

Angel girl in golden field with feather white wings

“The Woman And The Angel” by Robert William Service

An angel was tired of heaven, as he lounged in the golden street;
His halo was tilted sideways, and his harp lay mute at his feet;
So the Master stooped in His pity, and gave him a pass to go,
For the space of a moon, to the earth-world, to mix with the men below.

He doffed his celestial garments, scarce waiting to lay them straight;
He bade goodbye to Peter, who stood by the golden gate;
The sexless singers of heaven chanted a fond farewell,
And the imps looked up as they pattered on the red-hot flags of hell.

Never was seen such an angel: eyes of a heavenly blue,
Features that shamed Apollo, hair of a golden hue;
The women simply adored him, his lips were like Cupid’s bow;
But he never ventured to use them – and so they voted him slow.

Till at last there came One Woman, a marvel of loveliness,
And she whispered to him: “Do you love me?” And he answered that woman, “Yes.”
And she said: “Put your arms around me, and kiss me, and hold me – so – “
But fiercely he drew back, saying: “This thing is wrong, and I know.”

Then sweetly she mocked his scruples, and softly she him beguiled:
“You, who are verily man among men, speak with the tongue of a child.
We have outlived the old standards; we have burst, like an over-tight thong,
The ancient, outworn, puritanic traditions of Right and Wrong.”

Then the Master feared for His angel, and called him again to His side,
For oh, the woman was wondrous, and oh, the angel was tried.
And deep in his hell sang the Devil, and this was the strain of his song:
“The ancient, outworn, puritanic traditions of Right and Wrong.”

“Sonnet CCXV.” by Francesco Petrarca (Petrarch)


O angel looks! O accents of the skies!
Shall I or see or hear you once again?
O golden tresses, which my heart enchain,
And lead it forth, Love’s willing sacrifice!
O face of beauty given in anger’s guise,
Which still I not enjoy, and still complain!
O dear delusion! O bewitching pain!
Transports, at once my punishment and prize!
If haply those soft eyes some kindly beam
(Eyes, where my soul and all my thoughts reside)
Vouchsafe, in tender pity to bestow;
Sudden, of all my joys the murtheress tried,
Fortune with steed or ship dispels the gleam;
Fortune, with stern behest still prompt to work my woe.


O gentle looks! O words of heavenly sound!
Shall I behold you, hear you once again?
O waving locks, that Love has made the chain,
In which this wretched ruin’d heart is bound!
O face divine! whose magic spells surround
My soul, distemper’d with unceasing pain:
O dear deceit! O loving errors vain!
To hug the dart and doat upon the wound!
Did those soft eyes, in whose angelic light
My life, my thoughts, a constant mansion find,
Ever impart a pure unmixed delight?
Or if they have one moment, then unkind
Fortune steps in, and sends me from their sight,
And gives my opening pleasures to the wind.


“Love.” by Freeman Edwin Miller

Angelic theme of ancient lays!
By Doric hills, Athenian vales,
The nations bound thy brows with bays
And fanned thy cheeks with scented gales;
While golden lamps illumed thy shrines
Beside the Tiber and the Po,
Till anthems thine were taught to flow
Along the Alps and Appenines.

The souls of sages and of slaves
Were faithful servants unto thee,
Whose rapture soothed the Grecian waves,
And kissed the islands of the sea;
And bounding on from strand to strand
It crossed the coasts and climbed the slopes,
To place a crown of tender hopes
Upon the vine-clad Roman land.

Great empress of that early time,
Glad ruler of the gentle souls,
Each year is changed to raptured rhyme
That o’er thy laughing bosom rolls;
For cycles as they sink to rest
So closely guard thy joy and truth,
That fondness and immortal youth
Give sweet embraces to thy breast.

Thou goddess of the Paphian shrine,
Cytheran queen of Ion’s isle,
Fair Venus from the land of wine,
The races love thy dewy smile;
While silent hills and dewy glades
Bear praises on each breeze that blows,
Sweet as the breath of morning rose
That blossoms in the woodland shades!

Then crown, O, Love, these later days
With mystic charms of wondrous bliss,
That lived when thou wert wreathed with bays,
And nations hungered for thy kiss!
No more thy temples tower above,
But lives and bosoms hold thee dear;
Then come with all thy worth of cheer
And gentleness, O, mighty Love!

A beautiful girl  in a white vintage dress. Long hair is tightly

“A Woman’s Love.” by John Milton Hay

A sentinel angel sitting high in glory
Heard this shrill wail ring out from Purgatory:
“Have mercy, mighty angel, hear my story!

“I loved, – and, blind with passionate love, I fell.
Love brought me down to death, and death to Hell.
For God is just, and death for sin is well.

“I do not rage against His high decree,
Nor for myself do ask that grace shall be;
But for my love on earth who mourns for me.

“Great Spirit! let me see my love again
And comfort him one hour, and I were fain
To pay a thousand years of fire and pain.”

Then said the pitying angel, “Nay, repent
That wild vow! Look, the dial-finger’s bent
Down to the last hour of thy punishment!”

But still she wailed, “I pray thee, let me go!
I cannot rise to peace and leave him so.
Oh, let me soothe him in his bitter woe!”

The brazen gates ground sullenly ajar,
And upward, joyous, like a rising star,
She rose and vanished in the ether far.

But soon adown the dying sunset sailing,
And like a wounded bird her pinions trailing,
She fluttered back, with broken-hearted wailing.

She sobbed, “I found him by the summer sea
Reclined, his head upon a maiden’s knee, –
She curled his hair and kissed him. Woe is me!”

She wept, “Now let my punishment begin!
I have been fond and foolish. Let me in
To expiate my sorrow and my sin.”

The angel answered, “Nay, sad soul, go higher!
To be deceived in your true heart’s desire
Was bitterer than a thousand years of fire!”

“The Lover To His Lass” by Duncan Campbell Scott

Crown her with stars, this angel of our planet,
Cover her with morning, this thing of pure delight,
Mantle her with midnight till a mortal cannot
See her for the garments of the light and the night.

How far I wandered, worlds away and far away,
Heard a voice but knew it not in the clear cold,
Many a wide circle and many a wan star away,
Dwelling in the chambers where the worlds were growing old.

Saw them growing old and heard them falling
Like ripe fruit when a tree is in the wind;
Saw the seraphs gather them, their clarion voices calling
In rounds of cheering labour till the orchard floor was thinned.

Saw a whole universe turn to its setting,
Old and cold and weary, gray and cold as death,
But before mine eyes were veiled in forgetting,
Something always caught my soul and held its breath.

Caught it up and held it, now I know the reason;
Governed it and soothed it, now I know why;
Nurtured it and trained it and kept it for the season
When new worlds should blossom in the springtime sky.

How have they blossomed, see the sky is like a garden!
Ah! how fresh the worlds look hanging on the slope!
Pluck one and wear it, Love, and ask the Gardener’s pardon,
Pluck out the Pleiads like a spray of heliotrope.

See Aldebaran like a red rose clamber,
See brave Betelgeux pranked with poppy light;
This young earth must float in floods of amber
Glowing with a crocus flame in the dells of night.

O you cannot cheat the soul of an inborn ambition,
‘Tis a naked viewless thing living in its thought,
But it mounts through errors and by valleys of contrition
Till it conquers destiny and finds the thing it sought.

Crown her with stars, this angel of our planet,
Cover her with morning, this thing of pure delight,
Mantle her with midnight till a mortal cannot
See her for the garments of the light and the night.

“Dawn” by Paul Laurence Dunbar

An angel, robed in spotless white,
Bent down and kissed the sleeping Night.
Night woke to blush; the sprite was gone.
Men saw the blush and called it Dawn.

black angel in a field of fabulous red flowers. beautiful girl w

“Modern Love: XXXIII” by George Meredith

‘In Paris, at the Louvre, there have I seen
The sumptuously-feathered angel pierce
Prone Lucifer, descending. Looked he fierce,
Showing the fight a fair one? Too serene!
The young Pharsalians did not disarray
Less willingly their locks of floating silk:
That suckling mouth of his, upon the milk
Of heaven might still be feasting through the fray.
Oh, Raphael! when men the Fiend do fight,
They conquer not upon such easy terms.
Half serpent in the struggle grown these worms.
And does he grow half human, all is right.’
This to my Lady in a distant spot,
Upon the theme: ‘While mind is mastering clay,
Gross clay invades it.’ If the spy you play,
My wife, read this! Strange love talk, is it not?

“To ……….” by William Wordsworth

Let other bards of angels sing,
Bright suns without a spot;
But thou art no such perfect thing:
Rejoice that thou art not!

Heed not tho’ none should call thee fair;
So, Mary, let it be
If nought in loveliness compare
With what thou art to me.

True beauty dwells in deep retreats,
Whose veil is unremoved
Till heart with heart in concord beats,
And the lover is beloved.

“Apparition” by Victor-Marie Hugo

Jesaw a white angel passing over my head;
Its dazzling flight calmed the storm,
And silenced the noisy sea in the distance.
“What are you doing, angel, in this night?”
I said. He answered:—I come to take your soul.—
And I was afraid, for I saw that it was a woman;
And I said to him, trembling and stretching out my arms to him:
“What will I have left?” for you will fly away.—
He did not answer; the sky besieged by shadow
Was fading…—If you take my soul, I cried,
Where will you take it? show me where.
He was still silent.—O passing from the blue sky,
Are you death? said I, or are you the life?—
And the night increased on my delighted soul,
And the angel turned black, and said:—I am love.
But his dark brow was more charming than the day,
And I saw, in the shadow where his pupils shone,
The stars through the feathers of its wings.

Young beautiful fantasy woman fallen angel stands on sea beach enjoy nature.

“Air and Angels” by John Donne

Twice or thrice had I loved thee,
Before I knew thy face or name;
So in a voice, so in a shapeless flame,
Angels affect us oft, and worshipp’d be.
Still when, to where thou wert, I came,
Some lovely glorious nothing did I see.
But since my soul, whose child love is,
Takes limbs of flesh, and else could nothing do,
More subtle than the parent is
Love must not be, but take a body too;
And therefore what thou wert, and who,
I bid love ask, and now
That it assume thy body, I allow,
And fix itself in thy lips, eyes, and brow.
Whilst thus to ballast love I thought,
And so more steadily to have gone,
With wares which would sink admiration,
I saw I had love’s pinnace overfraught;
Thy every hair for love to work upon
Is much too much; some fitter must be sought;
For, nor in nothing, nor in things
Extreme, and scattering bright, can love inhere;
Then as an angel face and wings
Of air, not pure as it, yet pure doth wear,
So thy love may be my love’s sphere;
Just such disparity
As is ’twixt air’s and angels’ purity,
’Twixt women’s love, and men’s, will ever be.

“Meet We No Angels, Pansie?” by Thomas Ashe

Came, on a Sabbath noon, my sweet,
In white, to find her lover;
The grass grew proud beneath her feet,
The green elm-leaves above her:—
Meet we no angels, Pansie?
She said, ‘We meet no angels now’;
And soft lights stream’d upon her;
And with white hand she touch’d a bough;
She did it that great honour:—
What! meet no angels, Pansie?
O sweet brown hat, brown hair, brown eyes,
Down-dropp’d brown eyes, so tender!
Then what said I?—gallant replies
Seem flattery, and offend her:—
But—meet no angels, Pansie?

“Two loves I have of comfort and despair (Sonnet 144)” by William Shakespeare

Two loves I have of comfort and despair,
Which like two spirits do suggest me still:
The better angel is a man right fair,
The worser spirit a woman colour’d ill.
To win me soon to hell, my female evil
Tempteth my better angel from my side,
And would corrupt my saint to bea devil,
Wooing his purity with her foul pride.
And whether that my angel be turn’d fiend
Suspect I may, yet not directly tell;
But being both from me, both to each friend,
I guess one angel in another’s hell:
Yet this shall I ne’er know, but live in doubt,
Till my bad angel fire my good one out.

a beautiful woman like a fairy or nymph walking in the park

“True Love” by Waring Cuney

Her love is true I know,
Much more true
Than angel’s love;
For angels love in heaven
Where a thousand harps
Are playing.

She loves in a tenement
Where the only music
She hears
Is the cry of street car brakes
And the toot of automobile horns
And the drip of a kitchen spigot
All day.
Her love is true I know.

“Annabel Lee” by Edgar Allan Poe

It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of Annabel Lee;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea:
But we loved with a love that was more than love—
I and my Annabel Lee;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her highborn kinsman came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
Went envying her and me—
Yes!—that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we—
Of many far wiser than we—
And neither the angels in heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee:

For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling—my darling—my life and my bride,
In her sepulchre there by the sea,
In her tomb by the sounding sea.

Poems About Angels at Christmas

Beautiful young angel woman with big white wings near Christmas

“A Christmas Carol” by Christina Rossetti

In the bleak mid-winter
Frosty wind made moan,
Earth stood hard as iron,
Water like a stone;
Snow had fallen, snow on snow,
Snow on snow,
In the bleak mid-winter
Long ago.

Our God, Heaven cannot hold Him
Nor earth sustain;
Heaven and earth shall flee away
When He comes to reign:
In the bleak midwinter
A stable-place sufficed
The Lord God Almighty
Jesus Christ.

Enough for Him, whom cherubim
Worship night and day,
A breastful of milk
And a mangerful of hay;
Enough for Him, whom angels
Fall down before,
The ox and ass and camel
Which adore.

Angels and archangels
May have gathered there,
Cherubim and seraphim
Thronged the air;
But only His mother
In her maiden bliss
Worshipped the Beloved
With a kiss.

What can I give Him,
Poor as I am?
If I were a shepherd
I would bring a lamb,
If I were a Wise Man
I would do my part,—
Yet what I can I give Him,
Give my heart.

“Modern Love: XXIII” by George Meredith

’Tis Christmas weather, and a country house
Receives us: rooms are full: we can but get
An attic-crib. Such lovers will not fret
At that, it is half-said. The great carouse
Knocks hard upon the midnight’s hollow door,
But when I knock at hers, see the pit.
Why did I come here in that dullard fit?
I enter, and lie couched upon the floor.
Passing, I caught the coverlet’s quick beat:—
Come, Shame, burn to my soul! and Pride, and Pain—
Foul demons that have tortured me, enchain!
Out in the freezing darkness the lambs bleat.
The small bird stiffens in the low starlight.
I know not how, but shuddering as I slept,
I dreamed a banished angel to me crept:
My feet were nourished on her breasts all night.

“Christmas Hymn” by William Lisle Bowles

Hark! angel voices from the sky
Proclaim a Saviour’s birth;
Glory, they sing, to God on high,
Peace and goodwill on earth!

Catch the glad strain, ye seraphs bright!
The glorious tidings spread;
Wake, wake to wonder and to light,
The dark sleep of the dead!

Let the wide earth, from shore to shore,
One loud hosannah raise,
Glory to God, whom we adore,
Glory and hymns of praise!

beautiful woman with angel wings inspires beauty

“Christmastide” by Christina Rossetti

Love came down at Christmas,
Love all lovely, Love Divine;
Love was born at Christmas,
Star and Angels gave the sign.

Worship we the Godhead,
Love Incarnate, Love Divine;
Worship we our Jesus:
But wherewith for sacred sign?

Love shall be our token,
Love be yours and love be mine,
Love to God and all men,
Love for plea and gift and sign.

“Noel: Christmas Eve 1913” by Robert Bridges

Pax hominibus bonae voluntatis

A frosty Christmas Eve
when the stars were shining
Fared I forth alone
where westward falls the hill,
And from many a village
in the water’d valley
Distant music reach’d me
peals of bells aringing:
The constellated sounds
ran sprinkling on earth’s floor
As the dark vault above
with stars was spangled o’er.
Then sped my thoughts to keep
that first Christmas of all
When the shepherds watching
by their folds ere the dawn
Heard music in the fields
and marveling could not tell
Whether it were angels
or the bright stars singing.

Now blessed be the tow’rs
that crown England so fair
That stand up strong in prayer
unto God for our souls
Blessed be their founders
(said I) an’ our country folk
Who are ringing for Christ
in the belfries to-night
With arms lifted to clutch
the rattling ropes that race
Into the dark above
and the mad romping din.

But to me heard afar
it was starry music
Angels’ song, comforting
as the comfort of Christ
When he spake tenderly
to his sorrowful flock:
The old words came to me
by the riches of time
Mellow’d and transfigured
as I stood on the hill
Heark’ning in the aspect
of th’ eternal silence.

“A Christmas Carol” by Christina Rossetti

Before the paling of the stars,
Before the winter morn,
Before the earliest cock-crow,
Jesus Christ was born:
Born in a stable,
Cradled in a manger,
In the world His hands had made
Born a stranger.

Priest and King lay fast asleep
In Jerusalem,
Young and old lay fast asleep
In crowded Bethlehem:
Saint and Angel, ox and ass,
Kept a watch together,
Before the Christmas daybreak
In the winter weather.

Jesus on His Mother’s breast
In the stable cold,
Spotless Lamb of God was He,
Shepherd of the fold:
Let us kneel with Mary Maid,
With Joseph bent and hoary,
With Saint and Angel, ox and ass,
To hail the King of Glory.

girl stands with her back in white clothes with angel wings

“Christmas Eve” by Christina Rossetti

Christmas hath a darkness
Brighter than the blazing noon,
Christmas hath a chillness
Warmer than the heat of June,
Christmas hath a beauty
Lovelier than the world can show:
For Christmas bringeth Jesus,
Brought for us so low.

Earth, strike up your music,
Birds that sing and bells that ring;
Heaven hath answering music
For all Angels soon to sing:
Earth, put on your whitest
Bridal robe of spotless snow:
For Christmas bringeth Jesus,
Brought for us so low.

“A Christmas Carol” by Christina Rossetti

The Shepherds had an Angel,
The Wise Men had a star,
But what have I, a little child,
To guide me home from far,
Where glad stars sing together
And singing angels are?

Those Shepherds through the lonely night
Sat watching by their sheep,
Until they saw the heavenly host
Who neither tire nor sleep,
All singing “Glory, glory,”
In festival they keep.

The Wise Men left their country
To journey morn by morn,
With gold and frankincense and myrrh,
Because the Lord was born:
God sent a star to guide them
And sent a dream to warn.

My life is like their journey,
Their star is like God’s book;
I must be like those good Wise Men
With heavenward heart and look:
But shall I give no gifts to God?—
What precious gifts they took!

Poems About Angels and Death

Fantasy dark magician in a black dress with huge wings and horns. Gothic model Transformation of mythical goddess Gamayun syrin. Fabolous mountains and cliffs. image outfit for Halloween party

“The Death-Angel” by Ludwig Uhland (Matilda Dickson, Translator)

How is it with the dying, who can say?
Yet wondrously it seized me yesternight,
My limbs already sank in death’s cold might,
Within my breast the last pulse ebbed away:
Upon my spirit fell a strange dismay;
The mind, that ever felt securely bright,
Now flickering low, now fanned again to light,
Its feeble flame to every wind a prey!
Say, was it but an evil dream to prove me?
The lark sings loud, the rosy morn is glowing,
And new desire to stirring life doth move me;—
Or passed indeed the pale Death-angel here?
These flowers that yesternight were freshly blowing
Now from their stalks hang withered, dead, and sere.

“The Hour Of The Angel” by Rudyard Kipling

Sooner or late, in earnest or in jest,
(But the stakes are no jest) Ithuriel’s Hour
Will spring on us, for the first time, the test
Of our sole unbacked competence and power
Up to the limit of our years and dower
Of judgment, or beyond. But here we have
Prepared long since our garland or our grave.

For, at that hour, the sum of all our past,
Act, habit, thought, and passion, shall be cast
In one addition, be it more or less,
And as that reading runs so shall we do;
Meeting, astounded, victory at the last,
Or, first and last, our own unworthiness.
And none can change us though they die to save!

“Songs Set To Music: 26.” by Matthew Prior

Some kind angel, gently flying,
Moved with pity at my pain,
Tell Corinna I am dying
Till with joy we meet again.

Tell Corinna, since we parted
I have never known delight,
And shall soon be broken-hearted
If I longer want her sight.

Tell her how her lover, mourning,
Thinks each lazy day a year,
Cursing every morn returning,
Since Corinna is not here.

Tell her, too, not distant places,
Will she be but true and kind,
Join’d with time and change of faces,
E’er shall shake my constant mind.

young beautiful woman in blue dress on grass with white flowers

“To Laura In Death. Sonnet VIII.” by Francesco Petrarca (Petrarch)

Poich la vista angelica serena.


Since her calm angel face, long beauty’s fane,
My beggar’d soul by this brief parting throws
In darkest horrors and in deepest woes,
I seek by uttering to allay my pain.
Certes, just sorrow leads me to complain:
This she, who is its cause, and Love too shows;
No other remedy my poor heart knows
Against the troubles that in life obtain.
Death! thou hast snatch’d her hence with hand unkind,
And thou, glad Earth! that fair and kindly face
Now hidest from me in thy close embrace;
Why leave me here, disconsolate and blind,
Since she who of mine eyes the light has been,
Sweet, loving, bright, no more with me is seen?

“The Vision Of The Archangels” by Rupert Brooke

Slowly up silent peaks, the white edge of the world,
Trod four archangels, clear against the unheeding sky,
Bearing, with quiet even steps, and great wings furled,
A little dingy coffin; where a child must lie,
It was so tiny. (Yet, you had fancied, God could never
Have bidden a child turn from the spring and the sunlight,
And shut him in that lonely shell, to drop for ever
Into the emptiness and silence, into the night. . . .)

They then from the sheer summit cast, and watched it fall,
Through unknown glooms, that frail black coffin, and therein
God’s little pitiful Body lying, worn and thin,
And curled up like some crumpled, lonely flower-petal,
Till it was no more visible; then turned again
With sorrowful quiet faces downward to the plain.

“The Parting Soul And Her Guardian Angel.” by Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon

Soul –
Oh! say must I leave this world of light
With its sparkling streams and sunshine bright,
Its budding flowers, its glorious sky?
Vain ’tis to ask me – I cannot die!

Angel –
But, sister, list! in the realms above,
That happy home of eternal love,
Are flowers more fair, and skies more clear
Than those thou dost cling to so fondly here.

Soul –
Ah! yes, but to reach that home of light
I must pass through the fearful vale of night;
And my soul with alarm doth shuddering cry –
O angel, I tell thee, I dare not die!

Angel –
Ah! mortal beloved, in that path untried
Will I be, as ever, still at thy side,
Through gloom to guide till, death’s shadows passed,
Thou nearest, unharmed, God’s throne at last.

Soul –
Alas! too many close ties of love
Around my wavering heart are wove!
Fond, tender voices, press me to stay –
Think’st thou from them I would pass away?
Daily my mother, with anguish wild,
Bends o’er the couch of her dying child,
And one, nearer still, with silent tears,
Betrays his anguish, his gloomy fears –
Yes, even now, while to thee I speak,
Are hot drops falling upon my cheek;
Think you I’d break from so close a tie?
No, my guardian angel, I cannot die!

Angel –
Poor child of earth! how closely clings
Thy heart to earth and to earthly things!
Wilt thou still revolt if I whisper low
That thy Father in Heaven wills it so –
Wills that with Him thou should’st henceforth dwell,
To pray for those whom thou lovest so well,
Till a time shall come when you’ll meet again,
To forget for ever life’s grief and pain?

Soul –
Spirit, thy words have a potent power
O’er my sinking heart in this awful hour,
And thy soft-breathed hopes, with magic might.
Have chased from my soul the shades of night.
Console the dear ones I part from now,
Who hang o’er my couch with pallid brow,
Tell them we’ll meet in yon shining sky –
And, Saviour tender, now let me die!

Fallen Angel. A girl with torn off wings, desperately wanders on

“Reversibility” by Charles Baudelaire

Angel of gaiety, have you tasted grief?
Shame and remorse and sobs and weary spite,
And the vague terrors of the fearful night
That crush the heart up like a crumpled leaf?
Angel of gaiety, have you tasted grief?

Angel of kindness, have you tasted hate?
With hands clenched in the shade and tears of gall,
When Vengeance beats her hellish battle-call,
And makes herself the captain of our fate,
Angel of kindness, have you tasted hate?

Angel of health, did you ever know pain,
Which like an exile trails his tired footfalls
The cold length of the white infirmary walls,
With lips compressed, seeking the sun in vain?
Angel of health, did ever you know pain?

Angel of beauty, do you wrinkles know?
Know you the fear of age, the torment vile
Of reading secret horror in the smile
Of eyes your eyes have loved since long ago?
Angel of beauty, do you wrinkles know?

Angle of happiness, and joy, and light,
Old David would have asked for youth afresh
From the pure touch of your enchanted flesh;
I but implore your prayers to aid my plight,
Angel of happiness, and joy, and light.

“Sick Man And Angel.” by John Gay

“Is there no hope?” the sick man said.
The silent doctor shook his head,
And took his leave with unfeigned sorrow
To lose a patient on the morrow.
When left alone, the dying man
“Let me review my life” – began;
“My bargains – well, they were well made;
‘Tis the necessity of trade –
Necessity is no transgression.
Now for my portion in possession:
My lands and my securities,
They all are right, in every wise.
If justice to myself and heirs
Have done some hardships unawares, –
Left Smith in jail for debt, or sent
The Browns adrift for unpaid rent, –
I’ve given alms and helped my friends,
What I propose will make amends:
When I am numbered with the dead,
And when my good bequests are read,
Then will be seen and then be known
Benevolence I have not shown.”

The angel, present by his side,
Bade him not in such hopes confide:

“What deed have you done worthy praise?
What orphan blesses, widow prays,
To lengthen out your life one year?
If you will now add deeds to prayer –
Your neighbours want, whilst you abound –
Give me a cheque – five hundred pound.”

“Where is the haste?” the sick man whines;
“Who knows – who knows what Heaven designs:
That sum, and more, are in my will;
Perhaps I may recover still.”

“Fool!” said the angel: “it is plain
That your great happiness was gain;
And after death would fain atone
By giving what is not your own.”
“Whilst there is life, there’s hope!” he cried;
“Then why such haste?” – he spoke, and died.

“The Peace Angel” by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Angel of Peace, the hounds of war,
Unleashed, are all abroad,
And war’s foul trade again is made
Man’s leading aim in life.
Blood dyes the billow and the sod;
The very winds are rife
With tales of slaughter. Angel, pray,
What can we do or think or say
In times like these?
‘Child, think of God!’

‘Before this little speck in space
Called Earth with light was shod,
Great chains and tiers of splendid spheres
Were fashioned by His hand.
Be thine the part to love and laud,
Nor seek to understand.
Go lift thine eyes from death-charged guns
To one who made a billion suns;
And trust and wait.
Child, dwell on God!’

red hair charming woman is lying on the grass in a wonderful emerald dress with long train

“Amalia.” by Friedrich Schiller

Angel-fair, Walhalla’s charms displaying,
Fairer than all mortal youths was he;
Mild his look, as May-day sunbeams straying
Gently o’er the blue and glassy sea.

And his kisses! what ecstatic feeling!
Like two flames that lovingly entwine,
Like the harp’s soft tones together stealing
Into one sweet harmony divine,

Soul and soul embraced, commingled, blended,
Lips and cheeks with trembling passion burned,
Heaven and earth, in pristine chaos ended,
Round the blissful lovers madly turn’d.

He is gone and, ah! with bitter anguish
Vainly now I breathe my mournful sighs;
He is gone in hopeless grief I languish
Earthly joys I ne’er again can prize!

“The Angel’s Kiss” by Banjo Paterson (Andrew Barton)

An angel stood beside the bed
Where lay the living and the dead.

He gave the mother, her who died,
A kiss that Christ the Crucified

Had sent to greet the weary soul
When, worn and faint, it reached its goal.

He gave the infant kisses twain,
One on the breast, one on the brain.

“Go forth into the world,” he said,
“With blessings on your heart and head,

“For God, who ruleth righteously,
Hath ordered that to such as be

“From birth deprived of mother’s love,
I bring His blessing from above;

“But if the mother’s life he spare
Then she is made God’s messenger

“To kiss and pray that heart and brain
May go through life without a stain.”

The infant moved towards the light,
The angel spread his wings in flight.

But each man carries to his grave
The kisses that in hopes to save
The angel or his mother gave.

“The Two Angels” by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Two angels, one of Life and one of Death,
Passed o’er our village as the morning broke;
The dawn was on their faces, and beneath,
The sombre houses hearsed with plumes of smoke.

Their attitude and aspect were the same,
Alike their features and their robes of white;
But one was crowned with amaranth, as with flame,
And one with asphodels, like flakes of light.

I saw them pause on their celestial way;
Then said I, with deep fear and doubt oppressed,
“Beat not so loud, my heart, lest thou betray
The place where thy beloved are at rest!”

And he who wore the crown of asphodels,
Descending, at my door began to knock,
And my soul sank within me, as in wells
The waters sink before an earthquake’s shock.

I recognized the nameless agony,
The terror and the tremor and the pain,
That oft before had filled or haunted me,
And now returned with threefold strength again.

The door I opened to my heavenly guest,
And listened, for I thought I heard God’s voice;
And, knowing whatsoe’er he sent was best,
Dared neither to lament nor to rejoice.

Then with a smile, that filled the house with light,
“My errand is not Death, but Life,” he said;
And ere I answered, passing out of sight,
On his celestial embassy he sped.

‘T was at thy door, O friend! and not at mine,
The angel with the amaranthine wreath,
Pausing, descended, and with voice divine,
Whispered a word that had a sound like Death.

Then fell upon the house a sudden gloom,
A shadow on those features fair and thin;
And softly, from that hushed and darkened room,
Two angels issued, where but one went in.

All is of God! If he but wave his hand,
The mists collect, the rain falls thick and loud,
Till, with a smile of light on sea and land,
Lo! he looks back from the departing cloud.

Angels of Life and Death alike are his;
Without his leave they pass no threshold o’er;
Who, then, would wish or dare, believing this,
Against his messengers to shut the door?

Black Angel. Pretty girl-demon with black wings. An image for Ha

“Footsteps of Angels” by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

When the hours of Day are numbered,
And the voices of the Night
Wake the better soul, that slumbered,
To a holy, calm delight;
Ere the evening lamps are lighted,
And, like phantoms grim and tall,
Shadows from the fitful firelight
Dance upon the parlor wall;
Then the forms of the departed
Enter at the open door;
The beloved, the true-hearted,
Come to visit me once more;
He, the young and strong, who cherished
Noble longings for the strife,
By the roadside fell and perished,
Weary with the march of life!
They, the holy ones and weakly,
Who the cross of suffering bore,
Folded their pale hands so meekly,
Spake with us on earth no more!
And with them the Being Beauteous,
Who unto my youth was given,
More than all things else to love me,
And is now a saint in heaven.
With a slow and noiseless footstep
Comes that messenger divine,
Takes the vacant chair beside me,
Lays her gentle hand in mine.
And she sits and gazes at me
With those deep and tender eyes,
Like the stars, so still and saint-like,
Looking downward from the skies.
Uttered not, yet comprehended,
Is the spirit’s voiceless prayer,
Soft rebukes, in blessings ended,
Breathing from her lips of air.
Oh, though oft depressed and lonely,
All my fears are laid aside,
If I but remember only
Such as these have lived and died!

“The Dying Child To Its Mother.” by Victor-Marie Hugo

Ah, you said too often to your angel
There are other angels in the sky –
There, where nothing changes, nothing suffers,
Sweet it were to enter in on high.

To that dome on marvellous pilasters,
To that tent roofed o’er with colored bars,
That blue garden full of stars like lilies,
And of lilies beautiful as stars.

And you said it was a place most joyous,
All our poor imaginings above,
With the wing’d cherubim for playmates,
And the good God evermore to love.

Sweet it were to dwell there in all seasons,
Like a taper burning day and night,
Near to the child Jesus and the Virgin,
In that home so beautiful and bright.

But you should have told him, hapless mother,
Told your child so frail and gentle too,
That you were all his in life’s beginning,
But that also he belonged to you.

For the mother watches o’er the infant,
He must rise up in her latter days,
She will need the man that was her baby
To stand by her when her strength decays.

Ah, you did not tell enough your darling
That God made us in this lower life,
Woman for the man, and man for woman,
In our pains, our pleasures and our strife.

So that one sad day, O loss, O sorrow!
The sweet creature left you all alone;
‘Twas your own hand hung the cage door open,
Mother, and your pretty bird is flown.

“The Angel And The Child.” by Margaret Steele Anderson

“O, was it on that awful road,
The way of death, you came?”
“It was a little road,” he said,
“I never knew its name.”

“Is it not rough along that road?”
“I cannot tell,” said he,
“Up to your gate, in her two arms.
My mother carried me.”

“And will you show me Christ?” he said,
“And must we seek Him far?”
“That is our Lord, with children round.
Where little blue-bells are.”

“Why, so my mother sits at night,
When all the lights are dim!
O, would He mind, would it be right
If I should sit by Him?”

Young beautiful angel woman with red wings sits on a cloud. Night dark sky background with stars and space. Sexy latex dress. Valentine's Day concept. Goddess girl watching the universe from cosmos

“The Angel” by Virna Sheard

Down the white ward with slow, unswerving tread
He came ere break of day –
A cowl was drawn about his down-bent head,
His misty robes were grey.

And no man even knew that he went by,
None saw or heard him pass;
Softly he moved as clouds drift down the sky,
Or shadows cross the grass.

Close to a little bed where one lay low,
At last he took his stand,
And touched the head that tossed in restless woe
With gentle, outstretched hand.

“When bitterness,” he said, “is at an end,
And joy grows far and dim,
I am the angel whom the Lord doth send
To lead men on to Him.

“Past the innumerable stars, my friend,
Past all the winds that blow,
We, too, must travel to our journey’s end.
Arise! And let us go!”

“Stay! Stay!” the other cried. “I know thy face!
Death is thy dreaded name!”
“Nay – I am known as ‘Love’ in that far place,”
He said, “from whence I came.”

But still the other cried, with moan and tear,
“I fear the dark – and thee!”
“There is no dark,” the angel said, “nor fear,
For those who go with me.

“There is no loneliness, and nevermore
The shadow-haunted night,
When we pass out beyond Life’s swinging door
The road,” he said, “is bright.”

Then backward slipped the cowl from off his head,
Downward the robe of grey;
A radiant presence by the lowly bed
Greeted the breaking day.

Within the long white ward one lay alone,
None watched by him awhile,
But some who passed him said, in whispered tone,
“See – on his lips – the smile!”

“The Angel and the Child” by Jean Reboul (Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Translator)

An Angel with a radiant face,
Above a cradle bent to look,
Seemed his own image there to trace,
As in the waters of a brook.
“Dear child! who me resemblest so,”
It whispered, “come, oh come with me!
Happy together let us go,
The earth unworthy is of thee!
“Here none to perfect bliss attain;
The soul in pleasure suffering lies;
Joy hath an undertone of pain,
And even the happiest hours their sighs.
“Fear doth at every portal knock;
Never a day serene and pure
From the o’ershadowing tempest’s shock
Hath made the morrow’s dawn secure.
“What, then, shall sorrows and shall fears
Come to disturb so pure a brow?
And with the bitterness of tears
These eyes of azure troubled grow?
“Ah no! into the fields of space,
Away shalt thou escape with me;
And Providence will grant thee grace
Of all the days that were to be.
“Let no one in thy dwelling cower,
In sombre vestments draped and veiled;
But let them welcome thy last hour,
As thy first moments once they hailed.
“Without a cloud be there each brow;
There let the grave no shadow cast;
When one is pure as thou art now,
The fairest day is still the last.”
And waving wide his wings of white,
The angel, at these words, had sped
Towards the eternal realms of light!—
Poor mother! see, thy son is dead!

“On St. Peter loosed by the Angel—Acts XII, 6,7” by Richard Crashaw

Death, Herod, press on thee; when angel’s wing
Brings joy which thou supposest dreams to bring.
What gave he thee? Thy chains burst at his touch;
But Death and Herod would have given as much.

beautiful woman with white angel wings . blonde in a white swims

“Azrael” by Robert Gilbert Welsh

The angels in high places
Who minister to us,
Reflect God’s smile,—their faces
Are luminous;
Save one, whose face is hidden,
(The Prophet saith),
The unwelcome, the unbidden,
Azrael, Angel of Death.
And yet that veilèd face, I know
Is lit with pitying eyes,
Like those faint stars, the first to glow
Through cloudy winter skies.
That they may never tire,
Angels, by God’s decree,
Bear wings of snow and fire,—
Passion and purity;
Save one, all unavailing,
(The Prophet saith),
His wings are gray and trailing,
Azrael, Angel of Death.
And yet the souls that Azrael brings
Across the dark and cold,
Look up beneath those folded wings,
And find them lined with gold.

“The Kings” by Louise Imogen Guiney

A man said unto his Angel:
“My spirits are fallen low,
And I cannot carry this battle:
O brother! where might I go?
“The terrible Kings are on me
With spears that are deadly bright;
Against me so from the cradle
Do fate and my fathers fight.”
Then said to the man his Angel:
“Thou wavering, witless soul,
Back to the ranks! What matter
To win or to lose the whole,
“As judged by the little judges
Who hearken not well, nor see?
Not thus, by the outer issue,
The Wise shall interpret thee.
“Thy will is the sovereign measure
And only events of things:
The puniest heart, defying,
Were stronger than all these Kings.
“Though out of the past they gather,
Mind’s Doubt, and Bodily Pain,
And pallid Thirst of the Spirit
That is kin to the other twain,
“And Grief, in a cloud of banners,
And ringletted Vain Desires,
And Vice, with the spoils upon him
Of thee and thy beaten sires,—
“While Kings of eternal evil
Yet darken the hills about,
Thy part is with broken sabre
To rise on the last redoubt;
“To fear not sensible failure,
Nor covet the game at all,
But fighting, fighting, fighting,
Die, driven against the wall.”

“The Boy and the Angel” by Robert Browning

Morning, evening, noon, and night,
“Praise God!” sang Theocrite.

Then to his poor trade he turned,
Whereby the daily meal was earned.

Hard he laboured, long and well;
O’er his work the boy’s curls fell.

But ever at each period,
He stopped and sang, “Praise God.”

Then back again his curls he threw,
And cheerful turned to work anew.

Said Blaise, the listening monk, “Well done;
“I doubt not thou art heard, my son:

“As well as if thy voice to-day
Were praising God, the Pope’s great way.

“This Easter Day, the Pope at Rome
Praises God from Peter’s Dome.”

Said Theocrite, “Would God that I
Might praise him that great way, and die!”

Night passed, day shone,
And Theocrite was gone.

With God a day endures alway,
A thousand years are but a day.

God said in heaven, “Nor day, nor night,
Now brings the voice of my delight.”

Then Gabriel, like a rainbow’s birth,
Spread his wings and sank to earth;

Entered, in flesh, the empty cell,
Lived there, and played the craftsman well;

And morning, evening, noon, and night,
Praised God in place of Theocrite.

And from a boy to youth he grew:
The man put off the stripling’s hue:

The man matured and fell away
Into the season of decay:

And ever o’er the trade he bent,
And lived on earth content.

(He did God’s will; to him, all one
If on the earth or in the sun.)

God said, “A praise is in my ear;
There is no doubt in it, no fear;

“So sing old worlds, and so
New worlds that from my footstool go.

“Clearer loves sound other ways;
I miss my little human praise.”

Then forth sprang Gabriel’s wings, off fell
The flesh disguise, remained the cell.

’Twas Easter day; he flew to Rome,
And paused above St Peter’s Dome.

In the tiring room close by
The great outer gallery,

With his holy vestments dight,
Stood the new Pope Theocrite:

And all his past career
Came back upon him clear,

Since when, a boy, he plied his trade,
Till on his life the sickness weighed;

And in his cell, when death drew near,
An angel in a dream brought cheer:

And rising from the sickness drear
He grew a priest, and now stood here.

To the East with praise he turned,
And on his sight the angel burned.

“I bore thee from thy craftsman’s cell
And set thee here: I did not well.

“Vainly I left my angel-sphere,
Vain was thy dream of many a year,

“Thy voice’s praise seemed weak; it dropped—
Creation’s chorus stopped!

“Go back and praise again,
The early way, while I remain,

“With that weak voice of our disdain,
Take up creation’s pausing strain.

“Back to the cell and poor employ:
Resume the craftsman and the boy!”

Theocrite grew old at home;
A new Pope dwelt in Peter’s Dome.

One vanished as the other died:
They sought God side by side.

charming portrait of dark angel with sharp horns and claws on strong powerful wings, wicked witch in black lace dress brought hands to face, bright red lipstick and green eyes, art photo in blue shade

“The Conqueror Worm” by Edgar Allan Poe

Lo! ‘tis a gala night
Within the lonesome latter years!
An angel throng, bewinged, bedight
In veils, and drowned in tears,
Sit in a theatre, to see
A play of hopes and fears,
While the orchestra breathes fitfully
The music of the spheres.

Mimes, in the form of God on high,
Mutter and mumble low,
And hither and thither fly—
Mere puppets they, who come and go
At bidding of vast formless things
That shift the scenery to and fro,
Flapping from out their Condor wings
Invisible Wo!

That motley drama—oh, be sure
It shall not be forgot!
With its Phantom chased for evermore,
By a crowd that seize it not,
Through a circle that ever returneth in
To the self-same spot,
And much of Madness, and more of Sin,
And Horror the soul of the plot.

But see, amid the mimic rout
A crawling shape intrude!
A blood-red thing that writhes from out
The scenic solitude!
It writhes!—it writhes!—with mortal pangs
The mimes become its food,
And the angels sob at vermin fangs
In human gore imbued.

Out—out are the lights—out all!
And, over each quivering form,
The curtain, a funeral pall,
Comes down with the rush of a storm,
And the angels, all pallid and wan,
Uprising, unveiling, affirm
That the play is the tragedy, “Man,”
And its hero the Conqueror Worm.

“The Ghost” by Charles Baudelaire

Softly as brown-eyed Angels rove
I will return to thy alcove,
And glide upon the night to thee,
Treading the shadows silently.

And I will give to thee, my own,
Kisses as icy as the moon,
And the caresses of a snake
Cold gliding in the thorny brake.

And when returns the livid morn
Thou shalt find all my place forlorn
And chilly, till the falling night.

Others would rule by tenderness
Over thy life and youthfulness,
But I would conquer thee by fright!

“On the Death of Mrs. Browning” by Sydney Dobell

Which of the Angels sang so well in Heaven
That the approving Archon of the quire
Cried, “Come up hither!” and he, going higher,
Carried a note out of the choral seven;
Whereat that cherub to whom choice is given
Among the singers that on earth aspire
Beckon’d thee from us, and thou, and thy lyre
Sudden ascended out of sight? Yet even
In Heaven thou weepest! Well, true wife, to weep!
Thy voice doth so betray that sweet offence
That no new call should more exalt thee hence
But for thy harp. Ah, lend it, and such grace
Shall still advance thy neighbor that thou keep
Thy seat, and at thy side a vacant place!

beautiful angel

“The Angel at the Ford” by William James Dawson

I sought to hold her, but within her eyes
I read a new strange meaning; faint they prayed,
“Oh, let me pass and taste the great surprise;
Behold me not reluctant nor afraid!”
“Nay, I will strive with God for this!” I cried,
“As man with man, like Jacob at the brook,
Only be thou, dear heart, upon my side!”
“Be still,” she answered, “very still, and look!”
And straightway I discerned with inward dread
The multitudinous passing of white souls,
Who paused, each one with sad averted head,
And flashing of indignant aureoles.