Abrahamic / Middle Eastern Christianity 8 Christian Father's Day Poems Share Flipboard Email Print Blend Images - Ariel Skelley / Getty Images Christianity Christian Holidays Christianity Origins The Bible The New Testament The Old Testament Practical Tools for Christians Christian Life For Teens Christian Prayers Weddings Inspirational Bible Devotions Denominations of Christianity Funerals and Memorial Services Christian Entertainment Key Terms in Christianity Catholicism Latter Day Saints View More By Mary Fairchild Christianity Expert General Biblical Studies, Interdenominational Christian Training Center Mary Fairchild is a full-time Christian minister, writer, and editor of two Christian anthologies, including "Stories of Cavalry." our editorial process Facebook Facebook Twitter Twitter Mary Fairchild Updated March 02, 2019 Christian Father’s Day poems offer an opportunity to show our dads how much we care and how loving parents reflect our loving God. When fathers love their children as God intended, they live out His will. Too often, the sacrifices fathers make go unseen and unappreciated. Their value is sometimes not acknowledged, which is why fathers have been called the world’s most unsung heroes. Bless your earthly father with the poems that follow. They'll give you the right words to show how much you appreciate him. Read one aloud to your father or print one of the poems on his Father's Day card. This selection was compiled specifically with Christian dads in mind. My Earthly Dad By Mary Fairchild It’s no secret that children observe and copy the behaviors they see in the lives of their parents. Christian fathers have the immense responsibility of demonstrating the heart of God to their children. They also have the great privilege of leaving behind a spiritual legacy. Here is a poem about one father whose godly character pointed her child to the heavenly Father. With these three words,"Dear Heavenly Father,"I begin my every prayer,But the man I seeWhile on bended kneeIs always my earthly dad.He is the imageOf the Father divineReflecting the nature of God,For his love and careAnd the faith he sharedPointed me to my Father above. My Father's Voice in Prayer By May Hastings Nottage Written in 1901 and published by Classic Reprint Series, this work of poetry celebrates the cherished memories of a grown woman tenderly recalling from childhood the voice of her father in prayer. In the silence that falls on my spiritWhen the clamor of life loudest seems,Comes a voice that floats in tremulous notesFar over my sea of dreams.I remember the dim old vestry,And my father kneeling there;And the old hymns thrill with the memory stillOf my father's voice in prayer.I can see the glance of approvalAs my part in the hymn I took;I remember the grace of my mother's faceAnd the tenderness of her look;And I knew that a gracious memoryCast its light on that face so fair,As her cheek flushed faint—O mother, my saint!—At my father's voice in prayer.'Neath the stress of that marvelous pleadingAll childish dissensions died;Each rebellious will sank conquered and stillIn a passion of love and pride.Ah, the years have held dear voices,And melodies tender and rare;But tenderest seems the voice of my dreams—My father's voice in prayer. Dad’s Hands By Mary Fairchild Most fathers don’t realize the extent of their influence and how their godly behavior can make a lasting impression on their children. In this poem, a child focuses on her father’s strong hands to illustrate his character and express how much he has meant to her life. Dad's hands were king-size and strong.With his hands, he built our home and fixed all the broken things.Dad's hands gave generously, served humbly, and loved mom tenderly, unselfishly, completely, unendingly.With his hand, Dad held me when I was small, steadied me when I stumbled, and guided me in the right direction.When I needed help, I could always count on Dad's hands.Sometimes Dad's hands corrected me, disciplined me, shielded me, rescued me.Dad's hands protected me.Dad's hand held mine when he walked me down the aisle. His hand gave me to my forever love, who, not surprisingly, is very much like Dad.Dad's hands were the instruments of his great big, rugged-tender heart.Dad's hands were strength.Dad's hands were love.With his hands he praised God.And he prayed to the Father with those big hands.Dad's hands. They were like Jesus' hands to me. Thank You, Dad Anonymous If your father deserves a heartfelt thank you, this short poem may contain just the right words of gratitude he needs to hear from you. Thank you for the laughter,For the good times that we share,Thanks for always listening,For trying to be fair.Thank you for your comfort,When things are going bad,Thank you for the shoulder,To cry on when I'm sad.This poem's a reminder thatAll my life through,I'll be thanking heavenFor a special dad like you. Father’s Gift By Merrill C. Tenney Tenney (1904-1985) was a professor of the New Testament and dean of the graduate school at Wheaton College. This poem, penned for his two sons, expresses the heart’s desire of a Christian father to pass on a lasting spiritual heritage. To you, O son of mine, I cannot giveA vast estate of wide and fertile lands;But I can keep for you, the whilst I live,Unstained hands.I have no blazoned scutcheon that insuresYour path to eminence and worldly fame;But longer than empty heraldry enduresA blameless name.I have no treasure chest of gold refined,No hoarded wealth of clinking, glittering pelf;I give to you my hand, and heart, and mind—All of myself.I can exert no mighty influenceTo make a place for you in men's affairs;But lift to God in secret audienceUnceasing prayers.I cannot, though I would, be always nearTo guard your steps with the parental rod;I trust your soul to Him who holds you dear,Your father's God. My Hero By Jaime E. Murgueytio Is your father your hero? This poem, published in Murgueytio's book, "It's My Life: A Journey in Progress," is the perfect way to tell your dad what he means to you. My hero is the quiet type,No marching bands, no media hype,But through my eyes, it's plain to see,A hero, God has sent to me.With gentle strength and quiet pride,All self-concern is set aside,To reach out to his fellow man,And be there with a helping hand.Heroes are a rarity,A blessing to humanity.With all they give and all they do,I'll bet the thing you never knew,My hero has always been you. Our Dad Anonymous Although the author is unknown, this is a highly regarded Christian poem for Father's Day. God took the strength of a mountain,The majesty of a tree,The warmth of a summer sun,The calm of a quiet sea,The generous soul of nature,The comforting arm of night,The wisdom of the ages,The power of the eagle's flight,The joy of a morning in spring,The faith of a mustard seed,The patience of eternity,The depth of a family need,Then God combined these qualities,When there was nothing more to add,He knew his masterpiece was complete,And so, he called it Dad Our Fathers By William McComb This work is part of a collection of poetry, The Poetical Works of William McComb, published in 1864. Born in Belfast, Ireland, McComb became known as the laureate of the Presbyterian Church. A political and religious activist and cartoonist, McComb founded one of Belfast's first Sunday schools. His poem celebrates the lasting legacy of spiritual men of integrity. Our fathers—where are they, the faithful and wise?They are gone to their mansions prepared in the skies;With the ransomed in glory forever they sing,“All worthy the Lamb, our Redeemer and King!”Our fathers—who were they? Men strong in the Lord,Who were nurtured and fed with the milk of the Word;Who breathed in the freedom their Savior had given,And fearlessly waved their blue banner to heaven.Our fathers—how lived they? In fasting and prayerStill grateful for blessings, and willing to shareTheir bread with the hungry—their basket and store—Their home with the homeless that came to their door.Our fathers—where knelt they? Upon the green sod,And poured out their hearts to their covenant God;And oft in the deep glen, beneath the wild sky,The songs of their Zion were wafted on high.Our fathers—how died they? They valiantly stoodThe rage of the foeman, and sealed with their blood,By “faithful contendings,” the faith of their sires,Mid tortures in prisons, on scaffolds, in fires.Our fathers—where sleep they? Go search the wide cairn,Where the birds of the hill make their nests in the fern;Where the dark purple heather and bonny blue-bellDeck the mountain and moor, where our forefathers fell.