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Home›Traditions›Anabaptist

Anabaptist Illustrations

Radical discipleship, pacifism, and the church as a distinct counter-cultural community.

Key question: “How does this text call the community of faith to live as a distinct, counter-cultural witness to the Kingdom?”

23,910 sermon illustrations through the Anabaptist lens

Poetry

Holy Sonnet XIV: Batter My Heart, Three-Person'd God

Batter my heart, three-person'd God, for you As yet but knock, breathe, shine, and seek to mend; That I may rise and stand, o'erthrow me, and bend Your force to break, blow, burn, and make me new.

Universal

John Donne

104 words

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Poetry

The Beautiful Stranger

I cannot know what country owns thee now, With France's forest lilies on thy brow. When England knew thee thou wert passing fair; I never knew a foreign face so rare. The world of waters rolls and rushes bye, Nor...

Universal

John Clare

101 words

Poetry

Bereavement

How stern are the woes of the desolate mourner, As he bends in still grief o'er the hallowed bier, As enanguished he turns from the laugh of the scorner, And drops, to Perfection's remembrance, a tear; When floods of despair...

Sonnet 110: Alas! 'tis true, I have gone here and there

'tis true, I have gone here and there, And made my self a motley to the view, Gor'd mine own thoughts, sold cheap what is most dear, Made old offences of affections new; Most true it is, that I have...

Sonnet 35: No more be griev'd at that which thou hast done

No more be griev'd at that which thou hast done: Roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud: Clouds and eclipses stain both moon and sun, And loathsome canker lives in sweetest bud.

To Edward Williams

The serpent is shut out from Paradise. The wounded deer must seek the herb no more In which its heart-cure lies: The widowed dove must cease to haunt a bower Like that from which its mate with feigned sighs Fled in the April hour.

Sonnet 38: How can my muse want subject to invent

How can my muse want subject to invent, While thou dost breathe, that pour'st into my verse Thine own sweet argument, too excellent For every vulgar paper to rehearse?

A Better Resurrection

I have no wit, no words, no tears; My heart within me like a stone Is numbed too much for hopes or fears.

Epitaph for Joseph Blacket, Late Poet and Shoemaker

behold, interred together, The _souls_ of learning and of leather. Poor Joe is gone, but left his _all_: You'll find his relics in a _stall_. His works were neat, and often found Well stitched, and with _morocco_ bound.

Universal

George Gordon, Lord Byron

Short91 words

Poetry

Remind Me Not, Remind Me Not

Remind me not, remind me not, Of those beloved, those vanish'd hours, When all my soul was given to thee; Hours that may never be...

Universal

George Gordon, Lord Byron

269 words

Poetry

Sonnet to Lake Leman

Rousseau--Voltaire--our Gibbon--and De Staël-- Leman! these names are worthy of thy shore, Thy shore of names like these!

Universal

George Gordon, Lord Byron

111 words

Poetry

An Old Man’s Thought of School.

AN old man’s thought of School; An old man, gathering youthful memories and blooms, that youth itself cannot. Now only do I know you! O...

Fragment

all is past--swift time has fled away, Yet its swell pauses on my sickening mind; How long will horror nerve this frame of clay? I'm dead, and lingers yet my soul behind.

I cried at Pity -- not at Pain --

I cried at Pity -- not at Pain -- I heard a Woman say "Poor Child" -- and something in her voice Convicted me --...

Spain 1873–’74.

OUT of the murk of heaviest clouds, Out of the feudal wrecks, and heap’d-up skeletons of kings, Out of that old entire European debris—the shatter’d mummeries, Ruin’d cathedrals, crumble of palaces, tombs of priests, Lo!

To [Harriet]

sweet is the moonbeam that sleeps on yon fountain, And sweet the mild rush of the soft-sighing breeze, And sweet is the glimpse of yon dimly-seen mountain, 'Neath the verdant arcades of yon shadowy trees.

Fragment: To the Mind of Man

Thou living light that in thy rainbow hues Clothest this naked world; and over Sea And Earth and air, and all the shapes that be In peopled darkness of this wondrous world The Spirit of thy glory dost diffuse ...

395. Sonnet on the Author’s Birthday

SING on, sweet thrush, upon the leafless bough, Sing on, sweet bird, I listen to thy strain, See aged Winter, ’mid his surly reign, At thy blythe carol, clears his furrowed brow.

314. Song—There’ll never be Peace till Jamie comes hame

BY yon Castle wa’, at the close of the day, I heard a man sing, tho’ his head it was grey: And as he was singing, the tears doon came,— There’ll never be peace till Jamie comes hame.

To Sophia [Miss Stacey]

Thou art fair, and few are fairer Of the Nymphs of earth or ocean; They are robes that fit the wearer-- Those soft limbs of thine, whose motion Ever falls and shifts and glances As the life within them dances.

73. Song—Farewell to Ballochmyle

THE CATRINE woods were yellow seen, The flowers decay’d on Catrine lee, Nae lav’rock sang on hillock green, But nature sicken’d on the e’e. Thro’ faded groves Maria sang, Hersel’ in beauty’s bloom the while; And aye the wild-wood ehoes...

488. Song—The Winter of Life

BUT lately seen in gladsome green, The woods rejoic’d the day, Thro’ gentle showers, the laughing flowers In double pride were gay: But now our joys are fled On winter blasts awa; Yet maiden May, in rich array, Again shall bring them a’.

The Stranger

When trouble haunts me, need I sigh? No, rather smile away despair; For those have been more sad than I, With burthens more than I could bear; Aye, gone rejoicing under care Where I had sunk in black despair.

Each Life Converges to some Centre --

Each Life Converges to some Centre -- Expressed -- or still -- Exists in every Human Nature A Goal -- Embodied scarcely to itself --...

Universal

Emily Dickinson

Short80 words