12 Easter Poem and Poetry 2021 – Beautiful Easter Poems

If you are searching for the best poetry or poem on this Good Friday or Easter.

So you landed on the perfect page, Here I have a Collection of Easter Poems and Poetry from the most Famous Poets and Authors.

When Is Holy Week in 2021?

Important Dates of Lent	Brief Overview of Significance	2021 Dates
Palm Sunday	Celebrates Jesus’s triumphant entry into Jerusalem	Sunday , 28 March 2021
Holy Week	The week leading up to Easter	Holy Week 2021 will begin on Sunday , 28 March and ends on Saturday , 3 April
Maundy Thursday	Commemorates the foot washing and Last Supper of Jesus Christ with the Apostles	Thursday , 1 April Maundy Thursday 2021
Good Friday	Commemorates the crucifixion of Jesus and his death at Calvary	Friday , 2 April Good Friday 2021
Easter Sunday	Celebrates the resurrection of Jesus from the dead and his victory over sin and death.	Sunday , 4 April Easter Sunday 2021

Easter Poems and Poetry

If you want to translate the Easter Poems and Poetry into your Own language.

I hope you enjoy this pick of the greatest poems about Easter.

‘Done is a Battell on the Dragon Blak’:

A Poem by William Dunbar

Done is a Battell on the Dragon Blak

Done is a battell on the dragon blak,
Our campioun Chryst confoundit hes his force,
The yettis of hell ar brokin with a crak,
The signe trivmphall rasit is of the croce.
The diuillis trymmillis with hiddous voce,
The saulis ar borrowit and to the blis can go.
Chryst with his blud our ransonis dois indoce:
Surrexit dominus de sepulchro.

Dungin is the deidly dragon Lucifer,
The crewall serpent with the mortall stang,
The auld kene tegir, with his teith on char,
Quhilk in a wait hes lyne for ws so lang,
Thinking to grip ws in his clowis strang.
The mercifull lord wald nocht that it wer so.
He maid him for to felye of that fang:
Surrexit dominus de sepulchro.

He for our saik that sufferit to be slane
And lyk a lamb in sacrifice wes dicht,
Is lyk a lyone rissin vp agane
And as a gyane raxit him on hicht.
Sprungin is Aurora, radius and bricht,
On loft is gone the glorius Appollo,
The blisfull day departit fro the nycht:
Surrexit dominus de sepulchro.

The grit victour agane is rissin on hicht,
That for our querrell to the deth wes woundit.
The sone that vox all paill now schynis bricht,
And, dirknes clerit, our fayth is now refoundit.
The knell of mercy fra the hevin is soundit,
The Cristin ar deliuerit of thair wo,
The Iowis and thair errour ar confoundit:
Surrexit dominus de sepulchro.

The fo is chasit, the battell is done ceis,
The presone brokin, the ievellouris fleit and flemit,
The weir is gon, confermit is the peis,
The fetteris lowsit and the dungeoun temit,
The ransoun maid, the presoneris redemit,
The feild is win, ourcumin is the fo,
Dispulit of the tresur that he yemit:
Surrexit dominus de sepulchro.

Many of you are searching for the song to play with your kid on this easter 2021

Easter Bunny Song for Kids

Good Friday Quotes and Wishes Images

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Resurrection

Ridiculed and mocked, nailed to a cross.
Each of his followers mourning his loss.
Set down from on high, placed in a cave.
Unmovable stone in front of his grave.
Roman soldiers guarded the solemn room,
Rejecting attempts to enter the tomb.
Entrance sealed so no one could steal
Christ’s body, which had a great appeal.
Then on the third day, Mary could not believe
Inside the cave – no body to grieve.
On Sunday he was seen it was said.
Now God had raised His son from the dead.

Easter Morning – A. R. Ammons

I have a life that did not become,
that turned aside and stopped,
astonished:
I hold it in me like a pregnancy or
as on my lap a child
not to grow old but dwell onit is to his grave I most
frequently return and return
to ask what is wrong, what was
wrong, to see it all by
the light of a different necessity
but the grave will not heal
and the child,
stirring, must share my grave
with me, an old man having
gotten by on what was leftwhen I go back to my home country in these
fresh far-away days, it’s convenient to visit
everybody, aunts and uncles, those who used to say,
look how he’s shooting up, and the
trinket aunts who always had a little
something in their pocketbooks, cinnamon bark
or a penny or nickel, and uncles who
were the rumored fathers of cousins
who whispered of them as of great, if
troubled, presences, and schoolteachers, just about everybody older
(and some younger) collected in one place
waiting, particularly, but not for
me, mother and father there, too, and others
close, close as burrowing
under skin, all in the graveyard
assembled, done for, the world they
used to wield, have trouble and joy
in, gonethe child in me that could not become
was not ready for others to go,
to go on into change, blessings and
horrors, but stands there by the road
where the mishap occurred, crying out for
help, come and fix this or we
can’t get by, but the great ones who
were to return, they could not or did
not hear and went on in a flurry and
now, I say in the graveyard, here
lies the flurry, now it can’t come
back with help or helpful asides, now
we all buy the bitter
incompletions, pick up the knots of
horror, silently raving, and go on
crashing into empty ends not
completions, not rondures the fullness
has come into and spent itself fromI stand on the stump
of a child, whether myself
or my little brother who died, and
yell as far as I can, I cannot leave this place, for
for me it is the dearest and the worst,
it is life nearest to life which is
life lost: it is my place where
I must stand and fail,
calling attention with tears
to the branches not lofting
boughs into space, to the barren
air that holds the world that was my world

 

though the incompletions
(& completions) burn out
standing in the flash high-burn
momentary structure of ash, still it
is a picture-book, letter-perfect
Easter morning: I have been for a
walk: the wind is tranquil: the brook
works without flashing in an abundant
tranquility: the birds are lively with
voice: I saw something I had
never seen before: two great birds,
maybe eagles, blackwinged, whitenecked
and –headed, came from the south oaring
the great wings steadily; they went
directly over me, high up, and kept on
due north: but then one bird,
the one behind, veered a little to the
left and the other bird kept on seeming
not to notice for a minute: the first
began to circle as if looking for
something, coasting, resting its wings
on the down side of some of the circles:
the other bird came back and they both
circled, looking perhaps for a draft;
they turned a few more times, possibly
rising—at least, clearly resting—
then flew on falling into distance till
they broke across the local bush and
trees: it was a sight of bountiful
majesty and integrity: the having
patterns and routes, breaking
from them to explore other patterns or
better ways to routes, and then the
return: a dance sacred as the sap in
the trees, permanent in its descriptions
as the ripples round the brook’s
ripplestone: fresh as this particular
flood of burn breaking across us now
from the sun.

Easter Zunday – Ingeborg Bachmann

Last Easter Jim put on his blue
Frock cwoat, the vu’st time-vier new;
Wi’ yollow buttons all o’ brass,
That glitter’d in the zun lik’ glass;
An’ pok’d ‘ithin the button-hole
A tutty he’d a-begg’d or stole.
A span-new wes-co’t, too, he wore,
Wi’ yellow stripes all down avore;
An’ tied his breeches’ lags below
The knee, wi’ ribbon in a bow;
An’ drow’d his kitty-boots azide,
An’ put his laggens on, an’ tied
His shoes wi’ strings two vingers wide,
Because ‘twer Easter Zunday.An’ after mornen church wer out
He come back hwome, an’ stroll’d about
All down the vields, an’ drough the leane,
Wi’ sister Kit an’ cousin Jeane,
A-turnen proudly to their view
His yollow breast an’ back o’ blue.
The lambs did play, the grounds wer green,
The trees did bud, the zun did sheen;
The lark did zing below the sky,
An’ roads wer all a-blown so dry,
As if the zummer wer begun;
An’ he had sich a bit o’ fun!
He meade the maidens squeal an’ run,
Because ‘twer Easter Zunday.

Also, see good Friday wishes:- 

Good Friday Quotes and Wishes Images

Easter Poem

Let every heart be filled with joy,
A joy of thankfulness to our Savior and King!
He is victorious over sin and death.
He conquered death to give us a new life.A life blossoms through His unending love.
It is for a cause and without condition
The love that brings healing and reconciliation,
A pure love that creates in us real peace.Peace that springs from his sacred heart,
A heart that bleeds for our affliction.
It is full of mercy and compassion,
A heart wounded for our sins and vainglory.Rejoice! Jesus is truly risen from the dead
For us to live once again,
To live without blemish of pride,
And live a life unselfishly for others in need.

 

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Good Friday

Am I a stone, and not a sheep,
That I can stand, O Christ, beneath Thy cross,
To number drop by drop Thy blood’s slow loss,
And yet not weep?

Not so those women loved
Who with exceeding grief lamented Thee;
Not so fallen Peter, weeping bitterly;
Not so the thief was moved;

Not so the Sun and Moon
Which hid their faces in a starless sky,
A horror of great darkness at broad noon –
I, only I.

Yet give not o’er,
But seek Thy sheep, true Shepherd of the flock;
Greater than Moses, turn and look once more
And smite a rock.

Good Friday 1613. Riding Westward

Let mans Soule be a Spheare, and then, in this,
The intelligence that moves, devotion is,
And as the other Spheares, by being growne
Subject to forraigne motion, lose their owne,
And being by others hurried every day,
Scarce in a yeare their naturall forme obey:
Pleasure or businesse, so, our Soules admit
For their first mover, and are whirld by it.
Hence is’t, that I am carryed towards the West
This day, when my Soules forme bends toward the East.
There I should see a Sunne, by rising set,
And by that setting endlesse day beget;
But that Christ on this Crosse, did rise and fall,
Sinne had eternally benighted all.
Yet dare I’almost be glad, I do not see
That spectacle of too much weight for mee.
Who sees Gods face, that is selfe life, must dye;
What a death were it then to see God dye?
It made his owne Lieutenant Nature shrinke,
It made his footstoole crack, and the Sunne winke.
Could I behold those hands which span the Poles,
And tune all spheares at once peirc’d with those holes?
Could I behold that endlesse height which is
Zenith to us, and our Antipodes,
Humbled below us? or that blood which is
The seat of all our Soules, if not of his,
Made durt of dust, or that flesh which was worne
By God, for his apparell, rag’d, and torne?
If on these things I durst not looke, durst I
Upon his miserable mother cast mine eye,
Who was Gods partner here, and furnish’d thus
Halfe of that Sacrifice, which ransom’d us?
Though these things, as I ride, be from mine eye,
They’are present yet unto my memory,
For that looks towards them; and thou look’st towards mee,
O Saviour, as thou hang’st upon the tree;
I turne my backe to thee, but to receive
Corrections, till thy mercies bid thee leave.
O thinke mee worth thine anger, punish mee,
Burne off my rusts, and my deformity,
Restore thine Image, so much, by thy grace,
That thou may’st know mee, and I’ll turne my face.

Easter Poems and Poetry

I know in life we all go through
A lot of hurt and pain,
But we need to think of Jesus Christ
On the cross with all our shame

For as our Lord was hanging there,
He bore our sin and doubts
And the brokenness that bound our lives
As His precious blood poured out

And in the blood that flowed that day
Is forgiveness for all our sin,
For only Christ’s blood is able to cleanse
The deepest stain within

But oh, the pain that He went through
In suffering on His own,
For even the Father turned His face
And He was left to die alone

We could never imagine the anguish
Jesus endured upon the cross
And the love expressed in His dying breath,
When all we did was scoff

And nothing at all we’d ever go through
Could possibly compare
To the horror that the cross portrays
Of our sin, our hurts and fears

For the cross of Christ reconciled us
To our Father God above
And the Holy Spirit empowers us
To walk in transforming love.

 

The Easter Flower by Claude McKay

Far from this foreign Easter damp and chilly
My soul steals to a pear-shaped plot of ground,
Where gleamed the lilac-tinted Easter lily
Soft-scented in the air for yards around;Alone, without a hint of guardian leaf!
Just like a fragile bell of silver rime,
It burst the tomb for freedom sweet and brief
In the young pregnant year at Eastertime;And many thought it was a sacred sign,
And some called it the resurrection flower;
And I, a pagan, worshiped at its shrine,
Yielding my heart unto its perfumed power.

 

The Reason We Celebrate Easter

We celebrate the resurrection
and hail the risen Christ.
We kneel before the rugged cross
where Jesus gave His life.We lift our hands in total praise
and give thanks to God above
for the great sacrifice He made
to declare His unfailing love.If we look back to Calvary
where Jesus was crucified,
we can see His nail-pierced hands
and the wounds in His side.We marvel at Christ’s suffering
and give thanks for His sacrifice
’cause it was for us that Jesus died
so we could have eternal life.But God raised Jesus from the dead!
And with gratitude we can say,
“Our sin debt has been paid in full,”
so we celebrate Resurrection Day!

 

Easter Week by Charles Kingsley

See the land, her Easter keeping,
Rises as her Maker rose.
Seeds, so long in darkness sleeping,
Burst at last from winter snows.
Earth with heaven above rejoices;
Fields and gardens hail the spring;
Shaughs and woodlands ring with voices,
While the wild birds build and sing.You, to whom your Maker granted
Powers to those sweet birds unknown,
Use the craft by God implanted;
Use the reason not your own.
Here, while heaven and earth rejoices,
Each his Easter tribute bring-
Work of fingers, chant of voices,
Like the birds who build and sing.

 

Easter Wings

Lord, who createdst man in wealth and store,

      Though foolishly he lost the same,

            Decaying more and more,

                  Till he became

                        Most poore:

                        With thee

                  O let me rise

            As larks, harmoniously,

      And sing this day thy victories:

Then shall the fall further the flight in me.

 

My tender age in sorrow did beginner

      And still with sicknesses and shame.

            Thou didst so punish sinne,

                  That I became

                        Most thinne.

                        With thee

                  Let me combine,

            And feel thy victorie:

         For, if I imp my wing on thine,

Affliction shall advance the flight in me.

 

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