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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=415770" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>On St. David's Day</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">To Mrs. E.C. Morrieson</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>’Twas not chance but deep design,<br>Tho’ of whom I can't divine<br>Made the courtly Valentine<br>(Corpulent saint and bishop)<br>Such a time with Bob to stay:-—<br>Let me now in bardish way<br>On your own St. David’s day<br>Toss you a simple dish up.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">’Tis a tale we learnt at school,—<br>Oft we broke domestic rule,<br>Standing till our brows were cool<br>In the forbidden lobby.<br>There we talked and there we laughed,<br>Till the townsfolk thought us daft,<br>What of that? a thorough draft<br>Was and is still my hobby.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">To my tale: In ancient days,<br>Ere men left the good old ways,<br>Lived a lady whose just praise<br>Passes all fancied glory.<br>Rich was she in field and store,<br>Richer in the sons she bore,<br>How could she be honoured more?<br>Listen and hear the story.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">On a high and festive day<br>When the chariots bright and gay<br>To the temple far away<br>Passed in majestic order,—<br>When the hour was nigh at hand,<br>She who should have led the band<br>Found no oxen at command,<br>Searching through all her border</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then her two sons brave and strong<br>Gut their limbs with band and thong,<br>And before the wondering throng<br>Drew their exulting mother.<br>Swift and steady, on they came;<br>At the temple loud acclaim<br>Greeted that illustrious dame,<br>Blest above every other.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then, while triumph filled her breast,<br>Loud she prayed above the rest,<br>Give my sons whatever best<br>Man may receive from heavers.<br>To the shrine the brothers stept,<br>Low they bowed, they sunk, they slept,<br>Stillness o’er their brave limbs crept:—<br>Rest was the guerdon given.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Such the simple story told,<br>By a sage renowned of old,<br>To a king whose fabled gold<br>Could not procure him learning.<br>Heathen was the sage indeed,<br>Yet his tale we gladly read,<br>Thro’ his dark and doubtful creed<br>Glimpses of Truth discerning.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Now no more the altar's blaze<br>Glares athwart our worldly haze,<br>Warning men how evil ways<br>Lead to just tribulation.<br>Now no more the temple stands,<br>Pointing out to godless lands<br>That which is not made with hands,<br>Even the whole Creation.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ask no more, then, &quot;what is best,<br>How shall those you love be blest,&quot;<br>Ask at once, eternal Rest,<br>Peace and assurance giving.<br>Rest of Life and not of death,<br>Rest in Love and Hope and Faith,<br>Till the God who gives their breath<br>Calls them to rest from living.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=James+Clerk+Maxwell">James Clerk Maxwell</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=415770" data-title="On St. David's Day de James Clerk Maxwell" data-description="To Mrs. E.C. Morrieson


’Twas not chance but deep design,
Tho’ of whom I can't divine
Made the courtly Valentine
(Corpulent saint and bishop)
Such a time with Bob to stay:-—
Let me now in bardish way
On your own St. David’s day
Toss you a..."></div>
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