One of the largest free collections of sermon illustrations, organized by topic, scripture, and theological tradition.

Stay updated

New illustrations, features & occasional discounts

Browse

By Topic
By Scripture
By Tradition
By Emotion
By Source Type
Sermon Slides

Resources

Sample Illustrations
About
Premium
Contact Us
SermonWise AI
PewSearch
ChurchWiseAI

Support

Contact Us
+1 (888) 603-0316
support@churchwiseai.com
Privacy Policy
Terms of Service
Refund Policy

Home›Traditions›Anglican

Anglican Illustrations

Scripture, Tradition, and Reason — the "three-legged stool" — seeking the via media.

Key question: “How do we faithfully interpret this text using the wisdom of Scripture, Church tradition, and God-given Reason?”

24,038 sermon illustrations through the Anglican lens

Poetry

Song of the Open Road (excerpt)

AFOOT and light-hearted, I take to the open road, Healthy, free, the world before me, The long brown path before me, leading wherever I choose.

Universal

Walt Whitman

121 words

PreviousPage 912 of 1002Next

Poetry

Farewell to the Muse

Thou Power! who hast ruled me through Infancy's days, Young offspring of Fancy, 'tis time we should part; Then rise on the gale this the last of my lays, The coldest effusion which springs from my heart.

Universal

George Gordon, Lord Byron

364 words

Poetry

Translation of a Romaic Love Song

Love was never yet without The pang, the agony, the doubt, Which rends my heart with ceaseless sigh, While day and night roll darkling by. Without one friend to hear my woe, I faint, I die beneath the blow. That...

Universal

George Gordon, Lord Byron

247 words

Poetry

Fragment, or the Triumph of Conscience

'Twas dead of the night when I sate in my dwelling, One glimmering lamp was expiring and low,-- Around the dark tide of the tempest was swelling, Along the wild mountains night-ravens were yelling, They bodingly presaged destruction and woe!

The Schoolboy

I love to rise on a summer morn, When birds are singing on every tree; The distant huntsman winds his horn, And the skylark sings with me: Oh what sweet company! But to go to school in a summer morn,--...

Moonrise

I awoke in the Midsummer not to call night, in the white and the walk of the morning: The moon, dwindled and thinned to the fringe of a finger-nail held to the candle, Or paring of paradisaical fruit, lovely in...

Universal

Gerard Manley Hopkins

Short89 words

Poetry

Churchill's Grave, a Fact Literally Rendered

I stood beside the grave of him who blazed The Comet of a season, and I saw The humblest of all sepulchres, and gazed With not the less of sorrow and of awe On that neglected turf and quiet stone,...

Universal

George Gordon, Lord Byron

311 words

Poetry

Israfel

In Heaven a spirit doth dwell "Whose heart-strings are a lute;" None sing so wildly well As the angel Israfel, And the giddy Stars (so legends tell), Ceasing their hymns, attend the spell Of his voice, all mute.

House or Window Flies

These little window dwellers, in cottages and halls, were always entertaining to me; after dancing in the window all day from sunrise to sunset they would sip of the tea, drink of the beer, and eat of the sugar, and be welcome all summer long.

Farewell

Farewell to the bushy clump close to the river And the flags where the butter-bump hides in for ever; Farewell to the weedy nook, hemmed...

520. Ballad on Mr. Heron’s Election—No. 3

’TWAS in the seventeen hunder year O’ grace, and ninety-five, That year I was the wae’est man Of ony man alive. In March the three-an’-twentieth morn, The sun raise clear an’ bright; But oh! I was a waefu’ man, Ere to-fa’ o’ the night.

Sonnet 131: Thou art as tyrannous, so as thou art

Thou art as tyrannous, so as thou art, As those whose beauties proudly make them cruel; For well thou know'st to my dear doting heart Thou art the fairest and most precious jewel.

Imitation

A dark unfathomed tide Of interminable pride-- A mystery, and a dream, Should my early life seem; I say that dream was fraught With a wild and waking thought Of beings that have been, Which my spirit hath not seen,...

To an Oak at Newstead

when I planted thee deep in the ground, I hoped that thy days would be longer than mine; That thy dark-waving branches would flourish around, And ivy thy trunk with its mantle entwine.

Universal

George Gordon, Lord Byron

371 words

Poetry

Pignus Amoris

As by the fix'd decrees of Heaven, 'Tis vain to hope that Joy can last; The dearest boon that Life has given, To me is--visions of the past.

Universal

George Gordon, Lord Byron

213 words

Poetry

Song to the Men of England

Men of England, wherefore plough For the lords who lay ye low? Wherefore weave with toil and care The rich robes your tyrants wear? Wherefore feed, and clothe, and save, From the cradle to the grave, Those ungrateful drones who...

Sonnet 84: Who is it that says most, which can say more

Who is it that says most, which can say more, Than this rich praise,--that you alone, are you? In whose confine immured is the store Which should example where your equal grew.

Music

I pant for the music which is divine, My heart in its thirst is a dying flower; Pour forth the sound like enchanted wine, Loosen the notes in a silver shower; Like a herbless plain, for the gentle rain, I...

Sonnet 96: Some say thy fault is youth, some wantonness

Some say thy fault is youth, some wantonness; Some say thy grace is youth and gentle sport; Both grace and faults are lov'd of more and less: Thou mak'st faults graces that to thee resort.

To Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin

Mine eyes were dim with tears unshed; Yes, I was firm--thus wert not thou;-- My baffled looks did fear yet dread To meet thy looks--I could not know How anxiously they sought to shine With soothing pity upon mine.

Adieu to a Soldier.

ADIEU, O soldier!

Retirement

Far from the world, O Lord, I flee, From strife and tumult far; From scenes where Satan wages still His most successful war. The calm retreat, the silent shade, With prayer and praise agree; And seem, by Thy sweet bounty...

Artemisia.

IMMITATION OF ENGLISH POETS. EARL OF DORSET Though Artemisia talks, by fits, Of councils, classics, fathers, wits; Reads Malebranche, Boyle, and Locke: Yet in some things methinks she fails-- 'Twere well if she would pare her nails, And wear a cleaner smock.

The City In The Sea

Death has reared himself a throne In a strange city lying alone Far down within the dim West, Where the good and the bad and the worst and the best Have gone to their eternal rest.

Universal

Edgar Allan Poe

263 words