John Bunyan

(28 November 1628 – 31 August 1688 / Elstow, Bedfordshire, England.)

John Bunyan Poems

1. Of The Cuckoo 1/3/2003
2. Upon The Hour Glass 1/1/2004
3. Upon The Pismire 1/1/2004
4. Upon The Horse And His Rider 1/1/2004
5. Upon Over-Much Niceness 1/1/2004
6. Upon The Flint In The Water 1/1/2004
7. Upon The Sacraments 1/1/2004
8. Upon The Sun's Reflection Upon The Clouds In A Fair Morning 1/1/2004
9. Upon The Barren Fig-Tree In God's Vineyard 1/1/2004
10. Upon The Whipping Of The Top 1/1/2004
11. Upon The Vine Tree 1/1/2004
12. Upon The Lark And The Fowler 1/1/2004
13. Upon The Sight Of A Pound Of Candles Falling To The Ground 1/1/2004
14. Upon The Disobedient Child 1/1/2004
15. Upon The Lord's Prayer 1/1/2004
16. Upon Fire 1/1/2004
17. Upon The Swallow 1/1/2004
18. Upon The Skilfull Player Of An Instrument 1/1/2004
19. Of The Rose Bush 1/1/2004
20. To The Reader 1/1/2004
21. The Necessity Of A New Heart 1/1/2004
22. The Fowls Flying In The Air 1/1/2004
23. Of Uprightness And Sincerity 1/1/2004
24. On Promising Fruitfulness Of A Tree 1/1/2004
25. On The Cackling Of A Hen 1/1/2004
26. Upon A Lowering Of Morning 1/1/2004
27. Of The Spouse Of Christ 4/20/2010
28. Upon A Looking Glass 1/1/2004
29. Upon The Thief 1/1/2004
30. Of The Flie At The Candle 1/1/2004
31. The Operation Of Faith 1/1/2004
32. Upon The Bee 1/1/2004
33. From Mount Ebal 1/1/2004
34. Of Love To God 1/1/2004
35. Upon A Sheet Of White Paper 1/1/2004
36. Upon Thebegger 1/1/2004
37. Of The Going Down Of The Sun 1/1/2004
38. Of The Mole In The Ground 1/1/2004
39. Upon The Frog 1/1/2004
40. Of Death 1/1/2004
Best Poem of John Bunyan

Upon A Snail

She goes but softly, but she goeth sure,
She stumbles not, as stronger creatures do.
Her journey's shorter, so she may endure
Better than they which do much farther go.
She makes no noise, but stilly seizeth on
The flower or herb appointed for her food,
The which she quietly doth feed upon
While others range and glare, but find no good.
And though she doth but very softly go,
However, 'tis not fast nor slow, but sure;
And certainly they that do travel so,
The prize they do aim at they do procure.


Although they seem not much to stir, ...

Read the full of Upon A Snail

Of The Boy And Butterfly

Behold, how eager this our little boy
Is for a butterfly, as if all joy,
All profits, honours, yea, and lasting pleasures,
Were wrapped up in her, or the richest treasures
Found in her would be bundled up together,
When all her all is lighter than a feather.

He halloos, runs, and cries out, 'Here, boys, here!'
Nor doth he brambles or the nettles fear:

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