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

Stay updated

New illustrations, features & occasional discounts

Website

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›Black Church Tradition

Black Church Tradition Illustrations

Liberation, exodus, and prophetic justice rooted in the African American church tradition.

Key question: “How does this text speak to the experiences of suffering, hope, and liberation within the Black community?”

25,923 sermon illustrations through the Black Church Tradition lens

Poetry

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.

Universal

Alexander Pope

185 words

PreviousPage 973 of 1081Next

Poetry

The Moon was but a Chin of Gold

The Moon was but a Chin of Gold A Night or two ago -- And now she turns Her perfect Face Upon the World below...

Universal

Emily Dickinson

107 words

Poetry

Sonnet 72: O! lest the world should task you to recite

lest the world should task you to recite What merit lived in me, that you should love After my death,--dear love, forget me quite, For you in me can nothing worthy prove; Unless you would devise some virtuous lie, To...

I know some lonely Houses off the Road

I know some lonely Houses off the Road A Robber'd like the look of -- Wooden barred, And Windows hanging low, Inviting to -- A...

Graves of Infants

Infant' graves are steps of angels, where Earth's brightest gems of innocence repose. God is their parent, and they need no tear; He takes them to His bosom from earth's woes, A bud their lifetime and a flower their close.

The Lamb

Little Lamb, who made thee Dost thou know who made thee, Gave thee life, and bid thee feed By the stream and o'er the mead; Gave thee clothing of delight, Softest clothing, woolly, bright; Gave thee such a tender voice, Making all the vales rejoice?

Holy Sonnet I: Thou Has Made Me

Tho has made me, and shall thy work decay? Repair me now, for now mine end doth haste; I run to death, and death meets me as fast, And all my pleasures are like yesterday.

Though the Last Glimpse of Erin With Sorrow I See

Though the last glimpse of Erin with sorrow I see, Yet wherever thou art shall seem Erin to me; In exile thy bosom shall still...

My Last Duchess

That's my last Duchess painted on the wall, Looking as if she were alive. I call That piece a wonder, now: Frà Pandolf's hands Worked busily a day, and there she stands. Will't please you sit and look at her?

Translation From Horace

Justum et tenacem propositi virum. 'Odes', iii.

Universal

George Gordon, Lord Byron

150 words

Poetry

Sonnet 62: Sin of self-love possesseth all mine eye

Sin of self-love possesseth all mine eye And all my soul, and all my every part; And for this sin there is no remedy, It is so grounded inward in my heart.

Market Day

With arms and legs at work and gentle stroke That urges switching tail nor mends his pace, On an old ribbed and weather beaten horse, The farmer goes jogtrotting to the fair.

Address Intended to Be Recited at the Caledonian Meeting

Who hath not glowed above the page where Fame Hath fixed high Caledon's unconquered name; The mountain-land which spurned the Roman chain, And baffled back the fiery-crested Dane, Whose bright claymore and hardihood of hand No foe could tame--no tyrant could command?

Universal

George Gordon, Lord Byron

276 words

Poetry

Bridal Ballad

The ring is on my hand, And the wreath is on my brow; Satins and jewels grand Are all at my command. And I am happy now.

Scandal

She hastens out and scarcely pins her clothes To hear the news and tell the news she knows; She talks of sluts, marks each unmended gown, Her self the dirtiest slut in all the town.

The Old Cottagers

The little cottage stood alone, the pride Of solitude surrounded every side.

To Mr. Murray

TO hook the Reader, you, John Murray, Have published "Anjou's Margaret," Which won't be sold off in a hurry (At least, it has not been as yet); And then, still further to bewilder him, Without remorse, you set up "Ilderim;"...

Universal

George Gordon, Lord Byron

131 words

Poetry

Distant Hills

What is there in those distant hills My fancy longs to see, That many a mood of joy instils? Say what can fancy be? Do old oaks thicken all the woods, With weeds and brakes as here? Does common water...

La Revanche

There is no more for me to hope, There is no more for thee to fear; And, if I give my Sorrow scope, That Sorrow thou shalt never hear. Why did I hold thy love so dear? Why shed for such a heart one tear?

Universal

George Gordon, Lord Byron

109 words

Poetry

Sonnet 146: Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth

Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth, My sinful earth these rebel powers array, Why dost thou pine within and suffer dearth, Painting thy outward walls so costly gay? Why so large cost, having so short a lease, Dost...

Summer and Winter

It was a bright and cheerful afternoon, Towards the end of the sunny month of June, When the north wind congregates in crowds The floating mountains of the silver clouds From the horizon--and the stainless sky Opens beyond them like eternity.

Sonnet 97: How like a winter hath my absence been

How like a winter hath my absence been From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year! What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen! What old December's bareness everywhere!

The Harp the Monarch Minstrel Swept

The Harp the Monarch Minstrel swept, The King of men, the loved of Heaven! Which Music hallowed while she wept O'er tones her heart of...

Universal

George Gordon, Lord Byron

169 words

Poetry

To the Lord Chancellor

Thy country's curse is on thee, darkest crest Of that foul, knotted, many-headed worm Which rends our Mother's bosom--Priestly Pest! Masked Resurrection of a buried Form! Thy country's curse is on thee!

Universal

Percy Bysshe Shelley

425 words