The Fredösphere

I continue to search anthologies of religious poetry for texts suitable for setting to music.  Lord ha' mercy!  A chapter on poems of faith was a desert of solipsistic piety.  I've said it before, and I'll say it again:  a man with real faith never regards his own faith; he has eyes only for the object of his faith.  The authors in this chapter are so self-absorbed, they should be bloggers, not poets.  This example by Wordsworth is typical:

I have faith!  I have faith!
Yipee!  Yipee!  Yippee!
Good for me!  Good for me!
I have faith, faith, faith!!!!

The faith chapter put me in a foul mood -- a Carl Sandburg mood (this one is no joke):

You come along... tearing your shirt... yelling
        about Jesus.
      I want to know... what the hell... you
    know about Jesus.

(Billy Sunday was a pro baseball player in a time that baseball players lacked the nobility and grace for which present-day athletes are known.  A dramatic conversion to Christianity did not rub off all his rough edges.  His boisterous vulgarity, plus his relaxed attitude toward extreme wealth -- so long as the wealth was not illegally obtained -- enraged the hard-left sensibilities of Sandburg.)

Finally, anyone desiring a comprehensive knowledge of religious poetry must not overlook Gerardus.