Poetic Messages for This Troubled World

We need hope and kindness.

This morning, I came across this obscure poet, Peter Burn (c. 1755–1788). His works include "Night and Other Poems," "Voices of Nature," and "Poems," but I could not find them. However, here are a few poems that I find to be calming in this troubled and tumultuous time:

Kindness

by Peter Burn

Show kindness to others!

Treat all men as brothers,

Whatever their station, whatever betide;

All envy disdaining,

A failing discerning,

Seek not to uncover, but rather to hide.

Speak kindly to other,

And wealth shall be yours,

The magic of story still lives in kind words;

Let them be spoken,

And hearts will fly open—

Kind words are ever more mighty than swords.

Ode To May

by Peter Burn

Queen of months, supremely fair,

Cloth'd with garments rich and rare,

None in beauty can compare

With thee, sweet May.

Lovely month, thou bringest mirth,

Spreadest sweetness o;er the earth,

Causest Nature to give birth

To fruits and flowers.

Thou art lov'd by young and old.

Joys for each thou dost unfold;

Never shall our hearts grow cold

To thee, sweet May.

Heaven

By Peter Burn

There's a land where the souls of the righteous reign,

A home where the weary ones rest;

There, there is enjoyment without any pain,

There nought can be found that has blemish or stain,

For all with perfection are blest.

'Tis free from the wearisome darkness of night,

'Tis blest with continual day;

Our God is its sun, and we walk in His light;

There, cruel disease has no power to blight,

'Tis free from the spoiler, decay.

The Joy of Hope

by Peter Burn

When lonely and dejected,

When weary and oppress'd,

I love to think of heaven,

That place of joy and rest;

I love when trials meet me,

And waves of trouble roll,

To think upon the pleasures

Which there await my soul.

The path I tread is dreary,

My lot, alas! is poor;

But heaven's promised to me

Why should I wish for more?

This life is but a vapour,

Which vanisheth away,

Earth's pleasures are as flowers,

They wither and decay.

But, oh! the joys of heaven

Are not like those of earth,

They're real and enduring,

No tongue can speak their worth;

No mortal eye is able

To picture aught so fair;

No blight, no death, no sorrow,

Are known to enter there.

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http://www.discoverpoetry.com